The Vow on the Heron

THE KING FALLS IN LOVE

THAT there was change in the air was apparent throughout Château Gaillard where the King and Queen of Scotland lived as guests of the King of France.

The most unhappy person in that castle of Normandy was the Queen—Joanna, sister of Edward King of England. She had always been disturbed by the conflict between her husband and her brother and now that Edward was engaged in a struggle with the King of France it grieved her that David should side with her brother’s enemy and had even gone into battle with the French against the English.

She had heard the sad story of her namesake’s adventures in Austria. Poor child, she could understand and sympathize with her for being taken from her country at a tender age. Had it not happened to her? Perhaps people with the name Joanna were unfortunate. She could almost make herself believe that the name itself brought bad luck.

She certainly had had very little good luck.

She hoped her sister Eleanor was happier with the Earl of Gueldres than she was as the guest of the King of France.

She was almost nineteen years old now and David was sixteen, not too young to have had love affairs with some of the women in the castle. They had never really liked each other although she had tried to make a show of affection for him. He was a petulant boy and arrogant. He was constantly reminding people that he was a king, as though, because he was an exile from his country, they might forget it.

Being the son of the greatest King Scotland had ever known was a handicap. People constantly compared him with his father and naturally he must suffer in comparison. David was aware of it and it bothered him; he liked to taunt Joanna with remarks about her own father who was as different from Robert the Bruce as a man could be. Poor Father, who had died mysteriously and she feared ignobly in Berkeley Castle.

But that King’s son and her brother now reigned and he was a source of great irritation to David. Sometimes she fancied he flaunted his infidelity more before her because she was the sister of Edward of England.

It was as though he said. I shall do as I please. What care I for your noble brother about whom men are now beginning to talk as they did about your grandfather.

David enjoyed the life at Château Gaillard. There was dancing and jesting, plays and feasting. The King of France had said: You must look upon me as your friend and France as your home.’

And David had done so; not so Joanna. She could never forget that their host was the enemy of her brother and she was ashamed of accepting his hospitality.

Visitors from afar had come to the castle. The news they brought was exciting. The Scots had naturally taken advantage of Edward’s absence in France. They had risen and there had been none to stop them, certainly not the token force Edward had left with them. They had ousted Baliol who was no more than Edward’s tool. He had quickly left Scotland and had sought a refuge in England.

An embassy arrived at the Château Gaillard, led by Simon Fraser who had been David’s tutor and in whom he had had great confidence.

That was an exciting day at the château for Simon laid before the exiled King plans for his return to Scotland. For the last year or so the Scots had been scoring victory after victory over the English. The absence of Edward in France had been a boon to them, and he had to admit that they had enjoyed a great deal of help from the King of France who was pleased that the English should be harried on the Scottish Border so diverting them from their activities in France. Now the Bruce party had succeeded in ridding themselves of Edward’s puppet Baliol and therefore it was time David returned to take up his rightful place in the kingdom.

David was excited at the prospect. Life at Château Gaillard had been pleasant enough, but he was a king and wanted to rule his country. He could not forget that, even though the King of France had treated him as a visiting King, he was still dependent on his bounty.

‘When can I leave for Scotland?’ he asked Simon Fraser. Simon replied that he thought it would be advisable to visit the Court of France, make the King aware of his subjects’ request for him to return and ask his help in doing so.

It would be readily given, they were both sure.

And so it proved to be.

Smarting from the defeat at Helvoetsluys, Philip was only too pleased to add to Edward’s troubles; and he knew that the greatest of these would be a war in Scotland which must necessarily keep him out of France.

‘It is good news that they have driven out that traitor Baliol and Scotland is no longer England’s vassal,’ cried Philip. ‘You must keep it so, my lord. David the Bruce is the King of Scotland and not Edward Plantagenet.’

‘I want to go back and regain my kingdom. Then I will protect it from the English.’

‘That is as it should be,’ said the King of France. ‘Now, as you know, I lost many of my ships in conflict with Edward. He will know that you are proposing to leave for Scotland and what your arrival there will mean to him. He will use all his power and cunning to capture you before you arrive. We must be careful or you and your Queen will find you have left happy Gaillard for a less pleasant castle in England. You have been my honoured guests. You would be Edward’s prisoners. Leave this to me.’

David returned to Gaillard and the King of France gave orders that strong ships should be built to escort him back to Scotland. The shipwrights of Harfleur were working day and night; in fact all over France men were working on the ships and all the accoutrements necessary to convey a monarch home.

It was very flattering but David was to learn that the wily Philip was not expending all this time and money on him. The ships were in fact replacements for those lost in the battle of Helvoetsluys. Philip sent a secret message to Gaillard to the effect that David and the Queen were to make for the coast obstensibly to inspect the ships which were being made. They should pretend to begin to journey back to Gaillard and instead make for a quiet spot on the coast. Here they would find two humble vessels waiting for them. They should embark on these and sail for Scotland.

The English would be quite unaware that they had left France until they were safe in Scotland.

David was a little annoyed to realize that all the grand preparations were not for him. He would have liked to sail home surrounded by the might of the French navy. The English would then have determined to intercept. He was vain and arrogant but he was not a coward and he would have looked forward to such an encounter.

Joanna saw the wisdom of what the French King had arranged, and on the first day of June they set sail.

Their journey was uneventful and they arrived on the second day of June at Inverbervie, a small harbour in Kincardineshire.

Although their landing was scarcely noticed, when the Scots heard that David the Bruce, their rightful King, had come back to Scotland, they went wild with joy.

Now they would turn the English out of their country for ever.

David and his Queen were brought in triumph to Edinburgh. He found that the weakness of Baliol and his subservience to England had aroused the spirit of those men who longed to see a return of the strong rule of Robert the Bruce. There was a handful of men who were great fighters and had to a large extent the quality of leadership; these were rallying round the young King. There was Sir William Douglas, the Knight of Liddesdale, Robert the Steward, Murray of Bothwell and Randolph; and the determination of all these men was to rid Scotland of English domination. The fact that Edward had determined to make a bid for the crown of France had inspired them with greater hope than they had known since the death of Robert the Bruce.

The help they had received from France had been an inspiration. They were grateful to Philip for the hospitality he had shown to their king although they were of course aware of the reason for this.

They were stirring days in Scotland which followed the return of the King.

It might have been that they were a little disturbed to note his Frenchified manners. He loved fine clothes—such as were never seen in Scotland. His manners were French; he had developed a love of luxury and young as he was indulged with a freedom and abandon in his light affairs which was, they believed, a reflection of French customs. They were sorry for the young Queen, but she was after all English and the sister of King Edward, and no doubt she had other matters with which to concern herself than her husband’s infidelities.

Success followed success, castle after castle was recaptured in the name of the King and David was complacent, and as he had not yet been called upon to take part in any really serious battles his lack of judgement was not obvious.

He was surrounded by strong men and there seemed little doubt that victory was in the air.

It was hardly likely that Edward would allow matters to go on in this way.

Edward and Philippa determined that that Christmas should be a memorable one.

‘We have promised it to the children,’ said Edward. ‘Isabella was insistent that we all spend it together.’

‘And,’ added Philippa, ‘last Christmas poor little Joanna was in Austria.’

‘Well, there shall certainly be revelry this Christmas, otherwise I shall be in trouble with our daughter.’

‘Not too much indulgence, Edward, I beg of you.’

‘Oh, they are young yet. Let them be happy while they can. It will be necessary to arrange marriages for them soon. That is something I cannot relish.’

The plans began to be carried out and there was a great deal of excitement in the Princesses’ apartments. Joanna was embroidering gifts for her family—a pastime in which she delighted and she knew that her parents appreciated what she did. There were purses for them both decorated with dragons and birds, worked with exquisitely coloured silks. Isabella was not inclined to do such work; she sent her treasurer to buy gifts for her parents. They revelled in their new gowns—scarlet and purple scattered with pearls. They would wear their hair hanging down their backs because that was how their father liked it. They had surcoats of fine cloth of gold with patterns of birds and beasts on them; and beneath these they would wear a close-fitting gown of very fine material. Isabella loved to try on her gowns and indeed she had a great admiration for herself. As for Joanna she was so happy to be home that she was ready to laugh at everything—even Isabel- la’s vanity and her determination to have the best whenever there should happen to be a choice.

Never mind. This was Christmas in the palace of the Tower and a rare occasion because for once the entire family were all altogether.

Philippa was contented to be with her children and she was expecting another in June. She had a fine family and she was proud of it. One of the joys of her life had been her ability to give Edward these children whom he so dearly loved.

Perhaps some women would have been jealous of his devotion to them. Not Philippa. She rejoiced in it.

So it was indeed a happy Christmas. Edward had summoned the most talented of his minstrels, a man named Godenal who was famous throughout the Court for his music, his singing, his mimicry and his ability to amuse.

The pleasure of the children was a joy to behold, even young Edward joined in and they remarked afterwards that he was growing up fast and none would believe that he was only eleven years old.

I could die tomorrow, thought the King, and I should have a worthy successor.

But he had no intention of dying. There was so much he must do. More children to have. He was a man who could not have too many children. The more he had the more dear they would become to him. He hoped this one was a little girl. They had Edward, Lionel and John; and little girls were so enchanting.

Isabella was now nestling up to him and he drew Joanna close lest she should think he favoured her sister more than he did her, which perhaps he did, but he loved them both dearly.

Godenal’s performance was greeted with great joy by the children and the King whispered to them that they should reward the minstrel with a present.

‘Six shillings and eightpence from each of you I believe would be adequate,’ he said.

He smiled benignly as the children gravely paid the minstrel for his services.

That was a happy Christmas. but soon after came news from Scotland which was disturbing.

Edward realized that there was no help for it. It was no use leaving others to deal with the Scots. He must go and do so himself.

He reflected sadly that the last time he had gone his chief companion had been William Montacute Earl of Salisbury. Poor William, still languishing in a French prison! He had made several attempts to bring about his release. but Philip must know how great his friendship was for the Earl and he was determined to demand a great deal for his release.

Whatever it was, it must be paid.

But Philip was dilatory. After all, why should he put himself out to please the King of England?

After Christmas it was necessary to say good-bye to the children. They would remain in the palace of the Tower until the Queen left for Langley where she had decided she would go for her next confinement.

Edward in the meantime must busy himself with getting an army together to march on Scotland.

In June at Langley, Philippa’s child was born. Another boy—healthy and with as good a pair of lungs as any of his brothers possessed. He was named Edmund.

Edward marched north and was encamped at Berwick. The months passed with neither side making much progress. Edward was prepared to make a big onslaught after Christmas and in the great fortress of Berwick his thoughts went back to the happy Christmas he had spent with his family the previous year. How different in Berwick! He was determined to settle the Scots; but then of course he had the French matter to deal with.

Philippa would like him to stay in England, to govern that country well and forget Scotland and France. But Philippa was a woman, devoted to her home. He thought of her as she had been when he had first met her in her father’s castle of Hainault and what a happy domesticated atmosphere there had been there.

The old Count had not been ambitious—neither had his wife albeit she was a daughter of a King of France. Dear Philippa—rosy-cheeked, strong, plump, born to be a wife and mother.

And, by God, he thought, where could I have found another such as she has been to me? I have been singularly blessed in my marriage.

Often he thought of his mother who was now living in some luxury at Castle Rising but he rarely visited her. He found that too depressing, but when he did so, he gathered that her lapses into mental confusion were less frequent and that although she was not at Court she lived royally. When he had been with her he had been surprised at the plenteous and expensive foods on her table. Swans, turbot, lampreys and other delicacies abounded. She said that the people of the neighbourhood delighted in giving her presents. They were so pleased to have a Queen in their midst.

He wondered if she ever thought of Mortimer, that lover to whom she had been so passionately devoted, or of his father and did he still come to haunt her dreams?

He would go to see her when he left the North. She was after all his mother.

One of the guards came to tell him that a young man had ridden to the camp and was begging to be allowed to see him. ‘What young man is this?’ demanded the King.

‘Scarcely more than a boy, my lord. He said he comes from the Castle of Wark which is under heavy siege by the Scots. He has come to beg your help.’

‘Wark. Why that is Salisbury’s place. Bring him to me without delay.’

The boy was brought. He had a look of his father. Edward was concerned to see him so distressed.

‘My lord,’ stammered the boy, ‘we need your help. My mother and I have tried to hold the castle and have done so. We cannot hold out much longer. I fear they may take my mother as a hostage.’

‘You may be sure,’ said Edward, ‘that I shall drive the Scots away and save your mother from falling into their hands. There is no time to lose.’

Catharine Montacute, Countess of Salisbury, deeply mourned the absence of her husband. Theirs had been an unusually happy marriage but like all wives she had had to accept the fact that there would be times when they were separated. William had long been in the service of the King and although she herself had never met Edward she felt she knew him well from William’s talk of him.

There was a bond between Edward and William. They were both happily married—rare in their circle where marriages were often made in the cradle which was likely to result in certain resentments as young people grew up and found they had no choice in whom they should marry.

How fortunate she had been.

As Catharine Grandison, daughter of the first Baron Grandison, she had been considered a suitable wife for the eldest son of the second Baron Montacute. William was a man of great charm and Catharine would have been guilty of false modesty if she had not admitted to being a beauty. In fact wherever she went her exceptional good looks aroused attention. She was not only a beautiful woman, she was wise, possessed dignity, courage and a lack of vanity which in one so gifted was particularly admirable.

Their union had been blessed with several children, two of whom were sons, William and John. William the eldest at this time was almost fourteen years old.

Her husband had gone far in the King’s service for Edward had taken a fancy to him from the first and when he was little more than a boy it was William whom he had taken into his confidence when he had realized he must rid the country of Mortimer.

It was William who had found a way into Nottingham Castle and had been present at the arrest of Mortimer. The boy King had looked to the older man for friendship and advice for William was almost eleven years older than he was. It had been a lasting friendship and a few years before Edward had shown his appreciation by creating him Earl of Salisbury. He had chosen William to go to France to state his claim to the French crown; and Catharine knew that Edward had been most distressed to hear of his capture.

Nothing had gone right since that day. The possibility of what might be happening to him in some dark French prison haunted her dreams; every morning when she awoke her first thoughts were for him. She could only find consolation in taking charge of his castles and his affairs so that they should not suffer from his absence.

Wark Castle was on the south bank of the Tweed and being immediately on the border between England and Scotland could scarcely be in a more vulnerable position. So far it had been too formidable a fortress to have come under attack; and it probably never would have if Catharine’s brother-in-law, Edward Montacute, had not disconcerted the Scots by getting the better of them after one of their raids on English territory.

Since the return of David the Bruce these forays were becoming more frequent. The Scots were particularly suited to this kind of warfare, travelling as they did on small sure-footed horses very different from the magnificent creatures which the English rode into battle; but they were very well suited to the rough country. Each man carried a small griddle and a bag of oatmeal so that he could feed himself for long periods at a stretch even if he could not augment this with the spoils snatched from the villages which they ransacked. It gave them a great advantage. They could lie low for days unhindered by the need to look for food. And there was no doubt that these raids were having a great effect on the English inhabitants. They never knew when they would occur; Catharine realized that in the past many of them had made pacts with the Scots simply because they could not bear to go on living in uncertainty.

When recently there had been a big Scottish raid on Durham and Edward Montacute had had warning of this, he had taken a band of men from Wark Castle and lain in wait for the enemy. The Scots came to rest in a wood; they were weary with travelling; and they had brought with them the valuable articles which they had stolen from the town.

While they were sleeping, Edward Montacute and his men suddenly appeared among them, taking them completely off their guard. It had been a successful raid. Two hundred Scots were killed for the loss of one or two English and Montacute rode back to Wark with twelve horses laden with Durham spoils.

It was hardly to be supposed that the Scots would forgive such an attack.

A few days passed. Nothing happened and Edward Montacute was called away on the King’s business. Two days after he had gone the Scottish army arrived at Wark and were at this time camped in the surrounding fields.

The siege had begun.

Catharine was determined to hold the castle for her husband, but although after the raid she had made certain preparations, she soon began to see that she was in a vulnerable position.

She needed help. The King was in the neighbourhood. When she had last heard he had been in Berwick; and in fact that was the town which he had always made his headquarters. If she could get a message to him she was sure he would send help.

Her eldest son was eager to see if he could break out of the castle but she was reluctant to allow him to try. Young William however had strong determination and she rather feared that if she forbade him to go he would all the same. He had his father’s spirit and was determined to break out and get help. He had heard that there were jokes being circulated in the Scottish camp about his mother. It was being said that she—so far-famed for her beauty—would be more of a prize than the castle. Their King David, who had an eye for women, would appreciate her; and the fact that her reputation for virtue was as great as that for beauty would make the matter doubly amusing.

Young William had made up his mind and at night under cover of darkness, knowing the secret doors and passage ways of the castle, he managed to escape unseen. It was not difficult to acquire a horse, for those in the neighbourhood had benefited often from the goodness of the countess and were ready to help. Very soon he was on his way to Berwick.

Riding at the head of his army Edward saw the grim towers of Wark in the distance. He thought it would be a simple matter to rout the Scots. And when he returned to Westminster he would renew his attempts to get William Montacute released.

In the meantime there was the Countess to think of. Edward knew how William loved his wife. They had compared their wives so often. Two virtuous women, two women who loved them. He would rescue Catharine Montacute for William. Edward laughed aloud when the Scottish camps came into sight. Enough to frighten a lady alone in a castle perhaps. He would make short work of them. One of his men suggested that they rest before the attack but Edward would hear nothing of that.

‘There is a lady waiting eagerly to be released,’ he said. ‘It would be churlish to let her remain so one second longer than is necessary.’

So the attack began and as Edward had anticipated it did not last long. The English were vastly superior in arms and numbers, and in a short time the Scots had been routed and were flying in disorder.

Seeing the approach of the English, Catharine’s first impulse was to give thanks to God. So her son had made his way to the King for there fluttering in the breeze was the royal standard so she knew who her deliverer was.

The relief was intense. The Scots would have no chance against him. Briefly she let herself think of what might have happened to her. The humiliation of being taken prisoner by the uncouth Scots. She had heard rumours of the King’s profligate ways; she knew that there had been obscene talk about her in the Scottish ranks and in her heart that was what she had feared more than anything, although until now when release seemed certain she had not allowed herself to think about it.

The King would be victorious. So certain was she of this that she went to the kitchens and told them to prepare what food was left and do their very best for she believed that before the end of the day the King would be eating at their table.

They must wear their best livery. They must make a brave show. They were no longer the besieged. There must be adequate celebration of victory.

She went to her bedchamber and commanded her women to bring out her finest garments. Her hair was combed and displayed in all its rippling golden glory, her close-fitting jacket of golden-coloured velvet revealed her small elegant waist and over it she wore her spangled surcoat with its fashionable long hanging sleeves.

Then she went to a turret window to watch.

It was as she had known it would be as soon as she had seen the royal standard approaching.

The Scots were fleeing in disorder and the King was ready to enter the castle.

She gave orders that the drawbridge should be lowered; and as he rode across it she was waiting to greet him.

He dismounted and came towards her.

She made a deep curtsey and lifted her grateful eyes to his. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘welcome. My heart is too full to give you thanks just now.’

The King did not speak. He continued to look at her. His eyes were intensely blue she noticed; he was more handsome than hearsay had made him.

She stood up and their eyes met. Still he did not speak. He seemed bemused. She repeated her thanks.

Then he said slowly : ‘Lady, I am at your service ... now ... and always. Never in my life did I see a lady as beautiful as you.’

‘My lord is gracious,’ she answered. ‘May I conduct you into the castle which your timely rescue has saved for my husband.’

He did not seem to hear her and she walked beside him into the castle.

Edward, bemused, dazzled, told himself that having seen this perfect woman nothing could ever be the same for him again.

Wark was not the finest of the country’s castles. It was indeed primitive compared with the grandeur of those to which Edward was accustomed. But he was not aware of it. He could only think of the beautiful Countess. Her fine abundant hair, the contours of her face, the small waist, the dignity of her walk, her elegance.

The Countess was uneasy. She had been afraid of capture and what would happen to her at the hands of the rough Scots, but now a new fear had come to her. She realized what had happened more quickly than Edward did, for she had aroused similar emotions many times before. When ‘William was with her, he could protect her, but William was now a prisoner in Europe and this was the King.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I fear we cannot entertain you here at Wark in the manner to which you are accustomed.’

‘There is nowhere I would rather be at this time than in Wark,’ he answered.

He did not notice that the place was little more than a fortress. He knew these buildings, hardly worthy of the name of castle. They had been built by the Normans nearly three hundred years ago and never been improved on since. There was the hall with its high vaulted roof and the rooms were small cell-like places set along the outer walls.

‘I will conduct you to the room I have hastily had prepared for you. It is small, I fear, but the best in the house. You will not find it unbearably cold I trust ...’

‘I know,’ he said, ‘that I shall find it to my liking.’

‘My husband will want to thank you for what you have done for us this day.’

He did not answer. She saw the slight frown on his brow which increased her dismay.

‘My lord, if you will give me permission to leave you I will go to the kitchens to make sure that the best we can offer is laid before you.’

His eyes had never left her. She thought: I must get away. She curtseyed again and this time he took her hand and kissed it.

His lips were hot and fierce on her skin.

God help me, she prayed.

She withdrew her hand and to her amazement he had released it. Then without looking back she turned and ran from the room.

She went to a room on the other side of the castle. There she stood for a while leaning against the door.

I must be wrong, she told herself. It could not be. William had always talked about his devotion to Philippa. If only William were here!

It was early evening. There was the rest of the day to live through and then he would retire to the room she had prepared ... her room ... the only one fit to offer to the King.

She would sleep as far from him as possible.

There was no bolt to this door. She would choose another room.

Absurd precaution. It was not so. It could not be so.

‘The King is devoted to the Queen,’ William had said that again and again.

‘And he never looks at other women?’ she had asked.

‘He looks. He has a certain fancy for them. He told me once that except when he must discuss going into battle or state matters he preferred the company of women. He says they are wiser in many ways and he likes so much to look at them. Yet he is the most faithful husband in the country. He loved Philippa the moment he saw her and she follows him into battle so that she is never far away.’

Oh Philippa, thought the Countess, where are you now?

But it is a mistake, she assured herself. I imagine this. He has just driven off the enemy. He is overjoyed to have routed the Scots. He is pleased with me because I have given him an opportunity of doing this and being chivalrous it pleases him to help a lady in distress.

There. That was the explanation.

It must be the explanation.

Alone Edward sat on the bed. Her bed. He knew she had given him her room. The previous night she would have slept here.

He had never seen anyone like her. Naturally he had not. There was no one like her.

What perfections! He noticed many women, beautiful women, women with whom he would have liked to make love. Oddly enough, in spite of his position which would have meant even easier conquests than his outstanding good looks would have brought him, he had abstained from indulgence. Often using great restraint.

Always he thought of Philippa. There was something about Philippa which had made him loath to betray her trust in him. A sweet simplicity which had attracted him from the first. A gentleness, a kindness, a homeliness. No one could have been a better wife to him.

But never before this day had he been confronted by a goddess. For that was what Catharine Montacute seemed to him. Her beauty was blinding. Why had William not told him? Obviously because he wanted to keep her to himself. Why had William not brought her to Court? Ah, that was clear enough. He would have been the same if he had been in William’s place.

For the first time he was glad that William was a prisoner.

He was amazed at himself. He could not stop it. A raging desire had taken possession of him. He had been a good husband; he had never strayed from his marriage bed. But then he had never met Catharine Montacute before today.

She had changed everything. All his good resolutions had fled. This urgent need of her was fighting his conscience, subduing it, destroying it.

He had no conscience. He had only his desire for this woman.

Someone was at the door. He did not see them.

They had come to help him dress for soon he would go down to the great hall where they were doing their best to set forth a feast worthy of a king.

The table was ready; the knights were entering the hall. The King was not among them. His squire said that he had left Edward deep in thought and he had not even answered when he had reminded him that it was time to descend to the hall.

‘I think, my lady,’ said the squire, ‘that he awaits your coming that you may escort him to your table.’

It was indeed an old custom and with misgivings Catharine went to that bedchamber which had recently been hers.

She knocked on the door and the King himself opened it. When he saw her a smile of great delight spread over his face. He took her hand and drew her into the room shutting the door after them.

She saw that he was as he had been when he arrived and had not removed all of his armour.

She said: ‘My lord, I must leave you to take off your armour that you may come down unencumbered to our simple meal.’

‘I have thought a great deal since you left me,’ he said. ‘I have thought of nothing but you ... and of myself ... and of what this meeting means to me.’

‘My lord, it has meant my rescue and I am sure my lord of Salisbury will bless you for ever for what you have done for his lady this day.’

‘I was not thinking of him,’ said the King. ‘He has been your husband. That is reward enough for any man. Nay, I would think of you and me. For this day that has happened to me which has never happened before. I have met the most gracious and most beautiful lady in the world and to tell the truth I find I love her with all my heart.’

She smiled, pretending to treat the matter lightly. ‘My lord shows his gallantry in speech as well as in actions. You speak kindly of me and now I would show you what we have prepared for you to eat for I am sure you must be suffering from hunger.’

‘I hunger for one thing only, lady. For you.’

‘There are hungry men below, my lord, and they cannot start without your presence.’

‘Let them wait. I can wait no longer to tell you that your beautiful face, your perfections, your manners have so affected me that I cannot know another moment’s peace until you tell me that you do not look unkindly on me.’

‘How could a faithful subject look unkindly upon her King.’ ‘I do not wish this subject to look upon her King but on her lover.’

‘My lord, you amuse yourself thus, but I pray you, consider this. Your presence in this room and mine with you will give rise to gossip. It may be that your good Queen will hear of it and be much distressed.’

The mention of Philippa affected him a little, she saw; but he would not be diverted from his purpose.

‘I beg of you,’ she said, ‘come to our table.’

‘We will talk more of this later,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes,’ she answered, for she knew that she must get away

from this small room, away from those ardent eyes, the eager straying hands.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I will return to my guests and tell them that you will join us in a few moments.’

With that she escaped.

He was silent during the meal but everyone noticed that he could not take his eyes from the lady of the castle.

He must be entertained of course in accordance with the custom and it was Catharine who must sing and play the lute for him.

He watched her all the time, his eyes bright, his feelings for her obvious for all to see.

He expressed a desire for dancing and she must lead the dance with him beside her.

He held her hand firmly.

He whispered to her: ‘We must be together this night, for I cannot live another hour without you.’

‘I beg of you, my lord,’ she said. ‘Consider what you say.’

‘Of what moment is it ... but to us two.’

‘There are others to consider,’ she answered. ‘My husband, a prisoner in your service, your wife the Queen. My honour and duty to my husband, yours to your country and your family. All your subjects who look to you to set an example. I beg of you, my lord, go from here. Forget me.’

‘You ask the impossible. Do you think I will ever forget you? Do not be cruel to me, lady. I have never wanted anything in my life as I want you. The crown of England, the crown of France, I would give them all up for one night with you.’

She laughed as lightly as she could. ‘And the next go to war to win them back. My lord, I know you well. My husband talked much to me of you. He loves you dearly. Would you betray him when he has become a prisoner in your service?’

‘I would not think of him. I would forbid you to do so.’

‘Not even a king can guide a subject’s thoughts, my lord. I should think of my husband as long as I live.’

‘I shall not rest until you tell me that you love me as I love you. And when a man feels as I do—even if he be the noblest in the land—he will not rest until he has obtained the object of his desire.’

‘And when a woman is determined to maintain her honour until her death she will do so, my lord.’

‘You fill me with despair.’

‘Alas, my lord, I must.’

The dance over, the King expressed his desire to retire and he looked to the lady of the castle to conduct him to his bedchamber.

Catharine took his hand. Now she was afraid for she had seen the resolution in the King’s eyes.

Others had noticed it too.

But the determination in Catharine’s eyes was equally strong.

He drew her into the bedchamber and turning to her put his arms about her.

‘Come, my love,’ he said. ‘Hold off no more.’

She was rigid in his arms and he released her.

‘So you continue to resist?’ he said.

‘My lord, I must, for the sake of mine honour and yours.’

‘Honour beside ...’

She answered for him, ‘Lust.’

‘I call it love,’ he answered.

‘It is not love that comes in a few moments,’ she answered. ‘Not that true love such as I have for my husband and you have for your wife.’

‘I tell you this. There was never one who affected me as deeply as you do.’

‘Nay, my lord. I am a woman like others. You like my face and form. That is all. Of me, the true woman, you know little.’

‘I know that you are as brave as a lion and as stubborn as a mule.’

‘Then, my lord, I beg of you, turn your thoughts from me.’

‘I could take you if I wished. You might protest never so much and none would heed you if it were the King’s pleasure that they did not.’

‘That is true,’ she said, ‘but I know that you never would.’

‘It seems you know as little of me as you say I know of you.’

‘I see in your eyes, my lord, that though you would break your marriage vows and ask me to do the same, you would not violate a woman. You would respect her will for you know full well that gratification you seek would never be yours if you did so and all you would know would be shame.’

‘You are bold, Countess,’ he said.

‘As you are, my lord.’

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. ‘Methinks I love you more with every passing minute,’ he said.

‘My lord, I will wish you good night. It is better so. You will agree with me. I shall pray to God to preserve you and drive from your noble heart those villainous thoughts which have temporarily possessed it. I am ever ready to serve you as your faithful subject, but only in that which is consistent with your honour and mine.’

She withdrew her hands and opening the door went out. She went to the room which she had selected. She drew the bolt and lay down on the bed. She was exhausted but no longer so fearful.

He would never take her by force so she had nothing to fear. For she would never break her marriage vows.

Edward left for Berwick next morning.

He was silent and it was clear that his thoughts were far away from the war with Scotland.

He would never be contented again, he told himself. How could he be when Catharine was the wife of another man and he was married to Philippa?

His disloyalty struck him forcibly. He wished that he could stop thinking of Philippa. He could not. She was so much a part of his life, the mother of his beloved children. Yet he would have dismissed her, their children and their life together for Catharine Montacute.

It would not have been like that. He and Catharine could have been lovers and Philippa need never have known anything about it.

The thought made him smile wryly. How many people in Wark last night had slyly noted his obsession? They would be talking of it, whispering of it, nodding their heads over it. They had always marvelled at his fidelity to Philippa.

How noble Catharine had been ! She was the sort of woman who would die for her beliefs and she believed it wrong that he and she should break their marriage vows.

She was not only beautiful, she was peerless. The arch of her eyebrows, the pure line of her profile, the way she held her head ... all this he could see quite clearly and would remember for ever.

If she were his Queen he would be the happiest man on earth.

Philippa seemed to stand before him—her calm eyes sorrowful. She would understand of course. Philippa had always understood. Poor Philippa, she had never really been a beauty. He realized that more than ever when he compared her with the incomparable Catherine—plump Philippa, with her shining rosy cheeks and the goodness which was apparent in her very expression! He had always thought he had the best wife in the world ... but now he had seen Catherine.

And so it went on.

He was wretched. He had no heart for the fight. He was tired of the Scottish war. He wanted to go south, to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. He would go to France. Fight for his crown there. Sometimes he felt the Scots would never be subdued. They could always retire to their stronghold in the mountains and the strife could go on indefinitely.

There was news from Philippa. She was pregnant again. He should rejoice for he loved his children and could not have too many of them. But the thought of Philippa so disturbed his conscience that he felt more uneasy than ever.

Philippa reminded him that she had heard nothing for some time from their dear sister Eleanor, the wife of the Duke of Gueldres, and as Eleanor had corresponded frequently with her she hoped that was not a bad sign.

It was a relief to let his thoughts stray momentarily from his own affairs. Raynald of Gueldres, his sister’s husband, had been his firm ally in France. It was eight years since Eleanor had married him and she now had two healthy sons and had always appeared to be happy. Of course his sisters had had a very different childhood from that of his children. Perhaps memories of his early days had made him especially tender with his own children. How different his parents had been from himself and Philippa! His father had not been unkind but never interested in them and his mother had cared nothing at all for the girls and only for himself and his brother because of the importance they could be to her. So when Eleanor had gone to Gueldres she had been prepared to adjust herself. She had never been indulged as his own daughters had—particularly Isabella.

There must be some simple reason why she had not written. He was sure all was well in Gueldres.

Philippa’s news had steadied him a little, reminded him of the felicity of his family life so far. Catharine was right. It would have been wrong to disrupt it. Many of his ancestors had had mistresses and it had been considered quite a natural state of affairs. There had even once been a breath of scandal about the Conqueror. His grandfather had been a faithful husband and so had his great grandfather. They had set an example to the family. His own father had disgraced it, but even he had been faithful to his lovers.

As the days passed he began to see that Catharine had been right. Neither he nor she were the kind to indulge in a light love affair. Theirs would have been too deep a passion for that. And Philippa, how she would have grieved!

He made a decision. The first thing he would do would be to bring Catharine’s husband back to her. That would show her the nature of his devotion.

He had made several attempts to bring his friend out of captivity but the price demanded by Philip had been too high.

He immediately sent messengers to France to ask Philip which prisoner he would like in exchange for the Earl of Salisbury.

Philip asked for the Earl of Moray, whom Edward had captured a short while before with great elation for Moray was reckoned to be one of the finest Scottish leaders, a man who would be a great asset to young David the Bruce.

Philip would naturally ask a great price.

Edward agreed to it.

The Earl of Salisbury is one of my greatest friends,’ he said.

And when he thought of how he had attempted to seduce his wife he was ashamed. But his desire for the beautiful Countess burned as strongly as ever.

The Earl returned to England and Edward made a truce with the Scots and marched south.