The Vow on the Heron

THE PASSING OF PHILIPPA

PHILIPPA was finding it increasingly difficult to hide her infirmities from those about her. She suffered from internal pains and was a victim of dropsy which made her limbs swell to such an extent that she found it very difficult to leave her chair. If she moved it was with the help of her women and this caused her great distress.

Edward was a year older than she was but he seemed much younger. He was active still and appeared to have lost very little of his early vigour.

Philippa knew that he had a great affection for her but the days of their youth when they had been enough for each other had passed.

There was a sly woman who had come to Court as one of her bedchamber women. Philippa feared this woman. She was sure there was evil in her.

Alice Perrers was not exactly handsome and studying her closely Philippa could not understand exactly why she should have aroused the King’s interest. Perhaps it was a latent sexuality in her which was not obvious but Philippa had begun to suspect. She had seen looks which passed between her attendants and she noticed that they were brusque with Alice who did not seem to mind in the least. There was a secret brooding air about her as though she were biding her time.

The truth was that the King had at last succumbed to temptation.

He had noticed Alice Perrers as soon as he saw her and she had clearly been aware of his interest.

Alice was not of noble birth. Edward was not sure how she had wormed her way into the royal household but he made no effort to find out. She was a woman to grant favour for favour so it may have been that she had acquired her position through some well placed person at Court. Edward decided not to go into that. Suffice it that Alice was there.

She had caught his eye on her and had smiled invitingly. Other women had before, of course, and he had never strayed from Philippa, but Philippa was now a sick woman. He was as fond of her as he ever was, but he was virile and a King and Philippa could no longer help him to turn from temptation.

For some time he wrestled with his conscience. After a life of fidelity to his marriage vows it was not easy to break faith. But Alice was different from the others. She was determined. One night she came and slipped into his bed and there was nothing he could do short of turning her out and that was the last thing he wished.

After that night Alice was his mistress and nothing would stop his keeping her so. It had been a wild experience, different from anything he had known before and it left him dazed, bewildered and—said some of his courtiers—bewitched.

However, it had happened at last. The King had a mistress. And a low-born one at that. ‘She will not last long,’ prophesied those about him. They did not know Alice.

Having set one foot on the road to debauchery Edward could not stop himself going further. It was as though he had to make up for the lost years. There were times when he was overcome by remorse but then Alice would appear and laugh at his conscience. He was the King, was he not; and should not kings do as they wished?

He tried to explain to her the deep affection that existed between himself and the Queen. Alice thought that was all very well and that the Queen would understand. After all she was too old and infirm to be a wife to him.

‘She is younger than I,’ Edward reminded her.

‘Ah, but you, my King, are immortal.’

Sometimes he tried to understand what this lure was. Alice was not as beautiful as the Countess of Salisbury had been; she was certainly not like Joan the Fair Maid of Kent. But there was something so irresistible about her, something so sensuous, so matching his own nature which he realized he had held in check all these years that he could not leave her.

His children were scattered about the country and some abroad. It was no longer as it had been when they had been young and in the nursery and a continual source of interest between himself and Philippa. Philippa sick and heavy with that disfiguring and painful dropsy no longer had anything to offer him. In fact he eluded her—chiefly because to be with her aroused his conscience to such an extent that he began to despise himself.

His only consolation was in Alice, and Alice had plenty of comfort to give him.

She did not make too great a display of his generosity towards her. She was secretly a little in awe of the Queen. There was a quiet power about Philippa and Alice knew it would be unwise to rouse that to action. The King had a great regard for his wife; Alice knew better than he did how often Philippa was there in their bedchamber—a shadowing restraint, a curber of joys. Oh yes, the spirit of Philippa would always be with him ... until she died.

And that Philippa could not be long for this world was growing more and more obvious every day.

Philippa knew that her end was near. She lay in her bed so heavy now with her dropsical complaint that it was exhausting to move.

It had been a life well spent, a happy life and she cherished still the memory of her first meeting with Edward at her father’s Court. Theirs surely had been one of the happiest royal marriages ever known. Until now. She would not think of that brazen woman who crept about with secrets in her eyes. It was a pity she knew of her. But it was so obvious and she could not help it. She had always been aware that Edward was a man of strong passions. One of his nature naturally would be. She knew there had been temptations. She had heard whispers of the beautiful Countess of Salisbury and he had cast many a yearning glance on that minx Joan of Kent; but never had he given way to temptation. Until now. She must not take it hardly. He was a man and she had become a poor creature, too sick for anything but to lie in her bed and wait for the end, to look back over the past. She had much happiness to reflect on and she could be proud of the family she had raised.

Edward the first-born, the best loved, was now a father of two children, Edward and Richard, and seemed content with his life in Bordeaux with Joan of Kent. Perhaps Joan had loved him all the time. It was strange that he had not spoken for her when it would have been fitting for him to. Neither she nor Edward would have raised any objection to a match when they were young. Isabella was at last happily married. Poor Joanna had not had much of a life; and her two Williams and little Blanche would never be forgotten even though they had lived such a short time. Then there were tall and good-natured Lionel, bold John of Gaunt, Edmund and Thomas. She tried not to think of Mary and Margaret; she had never got over their deaths.

Her beloved children—all living their own lives which did not really concern her. Edward was pleased with the children they had had. She had nothing to reproach herself with on that score.

And now the end was fast approaching.

One morning she awoke in her apartments in Windsor Castle and knew it was close, so she sent a messenger to the King asking that he come to her bedchamber without delay. And when he came in all speed and saw how ill she was he was overcome with grief and his conscience smote him more strongly then ever before.

She smiled at him lovingly.

‘Edward,’ she said, ‘this is the end.’

He knelt by the bed and taking her hand kissed it. He kept his head lowered for he could not bear to look at her.

‘It must not be,’ he murmured.

‘Dear husband,’ she said, ‘dear lord and King, we cannot go against God’s will. He has decided that my time has come and we must perforce accept this. Our union has been long and you have given me so much happiness.’

Edward could scarcely bear to listen. He kept thinking of Alice Perrers and he reproached himself bitterly. Why did I not wait? Why did I do this to Philippa? For she knows ... everybody knows. This shame has come upon me.

‘My lord,’ said Philippa, ‘I beg you fulfil my engagements as I have entered them in my will. I have named those of my ladies who should receive some benefit.’

‘Everything you wish shall be granted, my beloved Queen.’

‘Edward when your time comes will you lie beside me in my tomb and shall it be in the cloisters of Westminster?’

‘It shall be done,’ said Edward.

‘Then let us thank God for the happy years. For the children He has given us ...’

‘I thank God for all this,’ said Edward, ‘and I beg him now not to take you from me.’

He was vowing to God: Only let her live and I will never see Alice again; but even at that moment he knew the allure of Alice would be too strong for him. He was overcome by misery which was heavy with remorse.

If only I had waited! he thought. If only she had never known!

She had closed her eyes.

It was the end. The long association with his Queen was over and he felt lost and bewildered. His son Edmund who was at the bedside with him laid a hand on his father’s arm.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘come away. She has left us for ever.’

Edward wrestled with his conscience. She did not know. I was always so careful. She would never have guessed what was happening.

He kept seeing her as the rosy-faced girl she had been when they had first married. Then he had been sure that he would never want anyone else as long as he lived.

But she never knew, he promised himself. She believed to the end that she was the only one.

But when he read her will and saw her bequests to the women of the bedchamber, he noticed at once that there was one name missing. That of Alice Perrers.