The Vow on the Heron

TROUBLE AT THE TOWER

AS soon as Edward had conferred with his Parliament and persuaded its members to grant him more funds for carrying on the fight for the crown of France he went to see his daughter Isabella in the palace of the Tower.

It was a tearful Isabella whom he found there. She threw herself into his arms and clung to him.

He was deeply touched. Dearly as he loved all his children, Isabella was the favourite. Edward very much enjoyed feminine society. He had been a faithful husband but that did not mean he was unaware of beautiful women and there had been times when had he been less determined he might have strayed. One of his greatest pleasures was jousting, with himself the champion of course and riding triumphantly round the field being aware of the applause and admiration of the ladies. He enjoyed wearing splendid garments to show off his outstanding good looks. This side to his character was in direct contrast to the great warrior and dedicated king, but it was nevertheless there and he was liked for this weakness which emphasized his strength in other directions.

Proud and delighted as he was to have begotten healthy sons, it was his daughters whom, in his heart, he secretly loved best.

Isabella was well aware of this and because she was self- willed, imperious and liked to have her own way she made good use of it.

she When she had shown him how delighted she was to see him e asked why it was that she alone of the family was unable to be with her mother in Flanders.

‘Dearest child,’ said Edward, ‘we are at war you know. You are safer here in London.’

‘I don’t want to be safe,’ she retorted. ‘I want to be with you all.’

‘So you shall be ... in due course.’

‘But I don’t want to wait for due course.’

‘I’ll tell you something, Isabella. Your sister Joanna is coming back from Austria. Our plans there did not work out as we expected. Soon she will be coming to join you here with Lady St Omer.’

Isabella frowned. She did not want Joanna. She wanted to share in the adventures. Life was so dull here, she pointed out. Besides, it was so long since she had seen her mother and if she were in Flanders she would see her father often would she not?

‘Oh dear dear father, I have missed you so.’

‘My love,’ replied Edward, ‘do you not think I have missed you?’

‘But exciting things happen to you. Here it is lessons and sitting over needlework. I am not like Joanna who always wants to be stitching and making embroidery.’

‘Poor little Joanna, she has had a sad time I am afraid.’

‘At least it has not been dull for her. She has travelled and almost married.’

‘But she has been very unhappy. Soon, I trust, she will be with your mother.’

‘While I stay here

Edward took Isabella’s face in his hands and kissed her. ‘It is not safe for you to travel, little daughter.’

She stamped her foot. ‘I don’t want to be safe. Besides, you promised ... You said next time you came you would take me with you. You promised. You promised.’

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘as soon as this war is over, I will take you with me to France.’

‘It can be years and years ...’

A feeling of depression came to Edward then. Years and years! He had always known that taking the French crown was not going to be an easy matter, but there were times when it seemed an insuperable task.

‘And you promised ... you promised. You said people should never break promises. You couldn’t do that, could you? You couldn’t break your promises to your own daughter ...’

‘I am thinking only of your safety.’

‘Oh, my dear lord, I am so miserable ... Please ... please ... take me with you.’

He hesitated and she was quick to see that. She twined her arms about his neck. ‘I cannot bear not to see you. I want to see them all—my mother, my brothers, and Joanna ... but most of all you, dear father. And you promised me ...’

Edward made a sudden decision.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall take you back with me.’

He was deeply moved to see the transfiguration. She was radiant.

He held her tightly in his arms and added: ‘Because I could not bear to be without you.’

Philippa uneasily waited in Ghent for the return of Edward; and when he did return she knew that confrontation with the French would be close at hand. Often she thought with regret of Robert of Artois and his heron. She could see that it was largely due to that man’s hatred of the King of France that he had almost forced Edward into action. Edward should have stood out against the temptor. Let him call him coward. There was not a man in England who did not know that that was the last thing Edward was. He was brave to recklessness; he would fight at the head of his armies. But secretly Philippa wished it was for a more worthy cause. She had been despised by some for her mildness; people did not realize that the very mildness had grown from her knowledge of what was best in life. Harmony was more to be desired than discord, peace than war; love could triumph over hatred at any time and how much happier were those who could take advantage of this.

If only she and Edward could return to England and waive this claim to the throne of France how much happier they would all be.

Sometimes Edward seemed to her like one of her children. She smiled at his vanities, his love of fine clothes and admiration; his delight in a tournament when he showed himself possessed of greater skill than others. Yes, like a child. Yet on the other side was the strong man, the great king, the wily general, the wise ruler.

She did not know for which she loved him more—his strength or his weakness.

And her role in life was to smooth the way for him, to care for him, to be at hand whenever he needed her most, to stand beside him, to hide from him her sometimes greater wisdom; to be always at his side when he needed her.

So now she was in Ghent, in some danger, for the knowledge that Edward had gone to England had reached the French who naturally thought this might be a good time to harry his Queen.

She was unafraid but Jacob von Arteveldt was anxious. He feared that the French might capture her and hold her captive. What a prize she would be with her young ones I

Jacob strengthened the defences about the Abbey of St Bavon and prayed for the speedy return of the King. He was particularly interested in little John whose godfather he was. The friendship between the Arteveldts and the Queen had become very firm. Philippa liked Jacob’s wife, Catherine, and in turn became godmother to her son who was christened Philip which was as near to Philippa as could be, considering the sex of the child.

There were skirmishes in the neighbourhood between the French and the English and Philippa was greatly distressed one day to learn that William de Montacute, who three years before had become Earl of Salisbury and was one of Edward’s greatest friends, had been captured and taken to Paris.

Jacob was very grave when he told Philippa the news.

‘I fear for the Earl of Salisbury,’ he said. ‘He is known to be very close to the King.’

Philippa was deeply distressed. ‘They have been friends for so long,’ she said. ‘In fact I think that William could be said to be his greatest friend. I hope that no harm comes to him.’

‘The mood of the King of France is not very benign towards the English at this time.’

‘How I wish Edward were here. He might be able to do something.’

Jacob shook his head. ‘There is little to be done, I fear. We can only hope for the best.’

There was even greater cause for concern. The French fleet was assembling to intercept Edward on his return to the Continent, and its strength would greatly exceed anything that Edward could muster.

Rumours of the assembling of the French fleet reached Edward and he was dismayed—not for himself, for he welcomed the opportunity of meeting the enemy—but on account of his daughter.

He should never have been so weak as to promise to take her with him. When he was away from her he realized that he spoilt Isabella. Philippa was aware of it and tried to curb his generosity towards their eldest daughter, but he had never been able to withstand her wiles. He smiled, thinking of her soft delicate skin, her pretty hair, those clear eyes that could cloud so quickly with passion when she was in a rage. Naughty Isabella! But he would not have her other than she was.

And now what? He could not break his promise to her. That was out of the question. Why, he thought indulgently, she would never forgive me

He gave orders that three hundred of the bravest men at arms and five hundred archers should be assigned to protect the little Princess and a train of countesses, ladies, knights’ wives and other demoiselles were chosen to travel with her that she should do so in the utmost comfort.

So they set sail and as they came near to the Helvoetsluys the King, from the deck of his ship, had his first glimpse of the great fleet of French ships which were assembled to intercept him.

His own fleet was small but it was either a matter of going on or turning back which was unthinkable.

‘I have long wished to meet them,’ he cried, ‘and now by the help of God and St George, I will fight them. They have done me so much mischief that I will be revenged on them.’

It was true that he welcomed the conflict; his only fear was for his daughter. He sent word to those who guarded her to do so with their lives, for if aught happened to her they would have to answer to him.

There was exultation among the French when they saw the English because of their greater numbers and they believed it would be an easy task to overcome those paltry two hundred English ships.

Edward was never better than when at a disadvantage and he had learned a great deal since the days of his first campaign in Scotland. He was now showing those signs of generalship which had distinguished his grandfather; and he never ceased to think of him when he went into battle. He had read of his campaigns; he had inherited his spirit and though the old King had been dead before he had been born he felt that he knew him well.

The fight had begun. Isabella, in her cabin surrounded by her ladies, listened to the tumult and wondered whether she would ever see her family again. She did think fleetingly that _she should not have coerced her father into taking her for she knew that while he should be thinking only of the enemy he would be concerned for her.

‘But,’ she said confidently, ‘he will win. My father will always win. He will fight even harder because I am here. So it is a good thing after all.’

Isabella had learned that it was pleasant to believe that what she did was for the best. She was not one to suffer great remorse.

All through the long hot day the battle raged. The noise was deafening; the ship rocked and there were times when it seemed as though it would sink. But as the day wore on the heat grew less intense and so did the battle.

Isabella was not surprised when she was told that the English had sunk countless French vessels, that the rest were in flight, and the result was victory for her father.

Such triumphs gave especial gratification to the winning side because they had successfully come through when it had seemed almost impossible that they could.

Edward ordered special thanksgiving services on each ship and he said they must cruise along the coast for a while to make sure that the French fleet did not have an opportunity to rally and fight again. Battles had been lost more than once when the victorious had retired from the scene of conflict too soon.

He came to Isabella and asked her how she had fared.

‘Such a lot of noise,’ she said, ‘and the ship rocked back and forth.’

‘So you thought you were going to sink, did you?’

‘I knew you wouldn’t let that happen.’

Now Philippa would have pointed out to the child that only God was omnipotent and what had been achieved had been done with His help. Edward was different; he could not help basking in his daughter’s admiration and he did not want God to have a share in it.

‘I’ll warrant you wished you were back in the Tower.’

‘How could I when you are here! I want to be in all the battles you win, dear father.’

‘I could not risk that,’ he told her.

And she smiled contentedly, knowing how precious she was to him and that, even if he refused her something in the first place, she would always get it in the end.

After a pilgrimage to Ardenberg to give thanks to the Virgin there for this great victory, Edward and his train set out for Ghent.

With what joy was Philippa reunited with her husband and her eldest daughter. Isabella was beside herself with delight.

She looked with mild interest on the new brother John; even two-year-old Lionel was a stranger to her. Her brother Edward seemed a great deal older than when he had left England and Joanna had undoubtedly changed. She was quiet and there was a certain sadness about her which was doubtless due to the unpleasant time she had had in Austria.

When Philippa was alone with her husband she broke the news of William Montacute’s capture. Edward was deeply distressed.

‘William was always a good friend to me,’ he said. ‘In fact I know of none other outside my family whom I love so well. I trust he will not be treated badly. I must do what I can to get him released.’

‘It will not be an easy matter,’ the Queen pointed out, ‘for all know him to be one of your most faithful friends.’

Edward wanted to know how he had been taken and was even more distressed to know that it had been in a mere skirmish near the town of Lille.

‘I must set about getting him released without delay,’ he declared.

‘It will not be easy. Philip will not readily let him go.’

But I must do my best. I shall send a message to Philip immediately.’

Philippa was certain that after suffering a disastrous defeat during which his fleet had been routed Philip was very unlikely to parley for the return of one of Edward’s friends.

After a few days she broached the subject of the family with Edward.

‘They are all here in Ghent,’ she said. ‘Is that wise?’

‘I was thinking how delightful it is for us all to be together though it is only for a short time.’

‘So it is,’ said Philippa, ‘but the people will not like it if the entire family is out of England. They will be restive. You know how it is. They might turn against us.’

Edward pondered this and in his heart he knew it was true. He had been very foolish to have allowed Isabella to accompany him. She should have stayed in the palace of the Tower and Joanna should have been sent to join her.

‘Isabella pleaded so earnestly ...’ he began.

‘I know,’ replied Philippa indulgently, ‘and she can do as she wills with you.’

Our daughter is such an enchanting child.’

‘Still,’ said Philippa, ‘I think that she and Joanna should return to England. The little boys must stay with me, of course, and Edward must be with you here. But the girls should go back. It is no place for them here and they will be an extra anxiety for you.’

‘They will hate to go. Joanna has only just come back to us.’

‘I know, I know. But, my dear lord, they must go. Isabella will forget her disappointment in comforting Joanna.’

Edward knew that she was right.

Shortly after—although Isabella protested—the two Princesses set sail for England. To please Isabella Edward made sure that she travelled in great style. She had three ladies-in-waiting while Joanna as the younger had but two; they had new gowns and cloaks bordered with fur and fashioned in the German style which was new to them. Isabella was a little placated and as her younger sister was put into her care and she could feel her importance she accepted her fate.

‘Ere long,’ the King promised her, ‘we shall all be together.’

Although Edward had routed the French and destroyed the naval power of France it was beginning to be borne home to him that to win this war was a near impossible feat. If it had not been necessary to fight on foreign soil transport problems would not have arisen. Constantly victory was either snatched from him or he was unable to consolidate his gains because he must pause to wait for supplies. This was the case at Tourney which he had besieged and violently attacked but which he had to abandon because of lack of supplies for his army.

Suddenly it seemed to him that there was one way only to settle this dispute and that was to challenge Philip to single combat.

Edward delighted in this because he had been a champion of the joust all his life and nothing could have pleased him more than to parade before a glittering assembly with his opponent, the King of France.

Philip however had no such ambitions and declined to meet Edward, his reason being that Edward had addressed him as the Duke of Valois when his title was the King of France. It was an excuse of course, said Edward. And it was true that all knew of the prowess on the field of the King of England.

Even had Philip been inclined to accept the challenge he would have had to heed the many warnings which came his way. Not that he would have accepted it in any case. He was far too wily. Settled by single combat! A crown! He had never heard such folly.

His sister Jeanne, Countess of Hainault, who was Edward’s mother-in-law, warned her brother not to take part in any such combat for she had seen Edward in action and she knew that Philip would be killed.

She had heard from Philippa and knew how her daughter deplored this war which she believed could bring nothing but misery and death to both sides. Countess Jeanne was at this time in a convent, her husband being dead and her daughters settled in marriage, and she made up her mind that she was going to do all she could to stop this senseless conflict between the members of her family.

When Edward heard what was afoot, he was dubious. He had had his great sea victory and had succeeded in crippling the French navy, and would have liked to have gone on from there.

But Philippa pointed out to him that the cost of providing the means to go to war was so great that she doubted the people would endure more taxation.

Edward at last agreed to consider the proposals the Countess had put forth and to the relief of Philippa and many others a truce was agreed upon. He left Robert of Artois in command of his army and prepared to return to England.

This will give us a little respite,’ said Philippa. ‘Oh how I long to be in England with the children!’

To her great delight they made preparations to leave Flanders.

It was November before they left—not the best time to cross the Channel and they had scarcely lost sight of the French coastline when a terrible storm arose. The ships were tossed and buffeted and all thought their last hour had come.

Some fell on their knees and prayed to God for His help. Many were certain that French witches had stirred up the elements and produced this fearful tempest so that the King might perish or even if he lived, be so terrified that he would never cross the sea again.

Edward was not likely to be so deterred when there was a crown to be won. They should know that he had only agreed to the truce because he needed the respite. Scotland was beginning to give him many uneasy qualms, and he knew instinctively that he had been away from England too long.

He was depressed. He would have liked to come home with the fruits of a decisive victory. Important though the naval battle had been it was far from that. The French might have lost sea power but they seemed to be unbeatable on land.

Philippa noticed how angry he looked as they rode to the Tower. She was always deeply conscious of his moods and when the black temper started to rise she was the only one who could soothe him and stop its breaking out into that full fury which could bring trouble to anyone with whom he came into contact.

As they approached the Tower they were surprised to find that the place seemed deserted. Edward’s brow darkened still further.

‘What can have happened?’ he muttered and there was great anxiety in his tone, for his thoughts immediately went to his daughters who should be guarded in the fortress.

He had given special instructions to the Constable of the Tower, Nicholas de la Bêche, that there should always be a guard round the Tower; he had assigned twenty men at arms and fifty archers to him for this purpose. Where were they now?

The King rode into the Tower. Had he been a stranger he could have done so unchallenged.

‘Where are the Princesses?’ he roared, but there was no one to answer him.

In a fury he dismounted; one of his attendants took the reins and, with Philippa beside him, he strode into the Tower.

There was no sign of anyone. The fortress was completely unguarded.

Isabella appeared suddenly and with her Joanna.

Seeing their father and mother the girls ran to them and Isabella threw herself into her father’s arms, Joanna into her mother’s.

For a few seconds Edward’s expression softened and then as he thought of the danger these precious children might have been in, unattended as they were he shouted: ‘Where are the guards? Where is the Constable?’

‘We like to be here by ourselves,’ said Isabella.

‘By yourselves! Do you tell me that you are here alone?’

‘We have three of the ladies with us and some servants and the others will all be back soon. They have only gone into the town to see their friends.’

Edward cried: By God, someone shall pay for this.’

The palace was now full of noise and bustle as the King’s attendants settled in. Edward himself grimly awaited the return of Nicholas de la Bèche.

When the Constable returned he was white with horror. He guessed that this would be the end of his career, perhaps his life. He had deserted his post; he had left the King’s daughters unprotected; it was an act which must certainly arouse the Plantagenet temper to its wildest heights.

‘So,’ cried Edward, ‘you have seen fit to return to your duty.’

‘My lord,’ stammered de la Bèche, ‘I have been close all the time ... I kept the Tower in sight ...’

‘You were not close enough to witness our arrival or you would have come scuttling back long ere this, I doubt not. And your guards, man, where were they? Carousing in taverns I doubt not! Oh, you will be sorry for this day, I promise you.’

Nicolas de la Bèche was trembling so much that he could not speak.

‘Take this man away,’ roared the King. ‘I will decide what shall be done with him. And his guards too who deserted their posts but he is the prime culprit. By God’s teeth, Constable of the Tower no more, you will regret this day’s work.’

Edward paced up and down trying to devise a punishment horrible enough to fit the crime.

Philippa came to him. ‘Dear lord,’ she said, ‘this matter is spoiling your delight in your family. It has made you forget that we are all here together and in England, and it has been so long ere this has happened.’

‘All the more reason why he should suffer.’

‘I have discovered that he visited his mistress.’

‘Villain.’

‘I doubt she thinks so,’ said the Queen. ‘Edward put aside your anger. It grieves us all. The Constable is beside himself with grief and remorse.’

‘And terror I doubt not, as I would have him. He contemplates what awaits him and I promise you it shall not be pleasant.’

‘My lord, promise me something else.’ ‘What is this?’

‘That you will forget your anger and look at this matter calmly.’

‘Calmly! When my daughters were in peril.’

‘They were not. The people of London love them. So do the attendants. They left their posts briefly and if there had been trouble would have been back to guard the children with their lives. I believe that the Constable and his guards have suffered enough.’

‘I intend to make an example of them. His head shall be on the bridge that all may see it. I’ll have him flayed alive ...’ ‘Oh, my lord, such a bitter punishment ... ‘

‘Well, perhaps it’ll be the traitor’s death. He has assuredly been a traitor to me.’

Philippa shivered. ‘My lord, I beg of you, please me in this.’

‘Do I not always do my best to please you?’

‘You do and that is why I know you will do so now.’

‘Philippa, you are constantly pleading for wrongdoers.’

‘I want the people to call you their merciful king. There is nothing so appealing as a man with power who shows mercy. That is a sign of greatness.’

Edward was silent and at that moment the door opened and Isabella came in.

‘Oh it is wonderful. You are home. Both of you. We are all so happy,’ she cried.

The King’s mood softened at the sight of his daughter. He said: ‘And think you that I am not happy to be with my family?’

‘You have done nothing but glower ever since you came,’ scolded Isabella. ‘Oh, dearest father, do not harm the Constable. He is such an amusing fellow.’

‘He does not amuse me.’

‘He has told us of his mistress. She is very beautiful ... and ardent, and a little light so that if he does not visit her she might find another lover. And he asked my permission to visit her and I gave it ... so you see, dearest Father, you cannot blame him.’

‘You gave it.’

‘I was the mistress of the Tower was I not, in your absence? I said to him: “Go to this ardent mistress of yours, Constable,” and of course when he had gone I told the guards they could go too. That was all it was, Father. And they are saying that you are going to do terrible things to him. Oh please let him go free. You see if you do not I shall be unhappy and it is all my fault and I shall never smile again.’

‘You are a foolish girl,’ said the King.

Isabella put her arms about his neck. ‘But you love me just the same. In spite of my folly. Oh, you do, don’t you, because if you don’t I shall ... die.’

‘What shall we do with this daughter of ours?’ asked the King.

‘I think on this occasion you will give her what she asks,’ replied the Queen.

‘Well,’ said the King, ‘if I say that the Constable shall go free will that please you?’

Isabella kissed him fervently. ‘You are the best father in the world and I love you dearly.’

‘But,’ said the King, ‘not today. He shall fret and sweat in his terror all through the night.’

‘But in the morning he shall be free,’ cried Isabella. ‘Oh, you dear good King. And we shall all be together for Christmas shall we not? I have planned such games.’

Philippa noticed that the King’s ill humour had completely disappeared.

‘Let us join Edward and Joanna,’ she said, ‘and hear all about these plans.’

Thus the Constable of the Tower resumed his duties and marvelled at the leniency of the King while he vowed that never would he be so foolish again and would serve Edward and his family with his life if need be.