The Vow on the Heron

THE MARRIAGE OF ELEANOR

EDWARD was in a quandary. He had discovered the names of the men he suspected of murdering his father. William Ogle, he believed, had actually done the deed. When Edward considered that he felt sick with horror and his temper which he had inherited from his ancestors was ready to break out into fury, which it certainly would if he ever laid hands on Ogle. Nothing would be too bad for that man to suffer. ‘And by God, he shall suffer,’ vowed Edward.

There were others concerned. Sir John de Maltravers was one, Sir Thomas Gurney another. They had fled to the Continent the day after the murder, which was surely an admission of their guilt.

They shall be found, Edward promised himself, and when they are my father shall be avenged.

But these guilty men had disappeared. Mortimer had paid the price for his sins and Queen Isabella was living in Castle Rising from which she could not emerge without his consent. He had heard that her melancholy was so great that she was subject to fits of madness.

A just retribution, he thought. But she is my mother and it is not for me to add to her miseries. Her sins have created for her a hell on earth and it is for her to inhabit it.

Meanwhile there were domestic problems. He wanted his sister Eleanor to take up residence with Philippa.

Among all the evil things that had happened the brightness in his life came from his Queen and his child.

Little Edward was progressing well and proving himself to be the most beautiful and intelligent boy that ever lived. Philippa was a happy wife and mother and whenever the King felt in need of comfort he went to her. He found her delighting in a letter from the Court of Hainault. She had always been devoted to her family and there was a constant exchange of letters between the two Courts, so Philippa was kept informed of the family’s health, excitement and sorrows.

‘She writes so vividly,’ said Philippa. ‘When I read my mother’s letters it is like being at home.’

This time she was more than usually excited. ‘Such good news, Edward. My mother wants to visit us.’

‘That will be wonderful for you.’

‘Of course I tell her how happy I am, how wonderful you are to me and how ideally suited we are.’

‘I’ll warrant you also write of your son’s perfections.’ ‘She will naturally want to hear of Edward.’

‘What has the young rogue been doing of late ?’

‘Screaming now and then to attract my attention. Continuing to scream if the nurse picks him up because he wants his mother.’

‘I don’t blame him,’ said Edward fondly.

‘He knows exactly what is going on.’

‘I am sure he knows all about the trouble with the Scots and the French and all our other affairs.’

Philippa noticed the sadness which crept into his voice, and she guessed he was thinking of his mother.

She said quickly: ‘All declare there is something really wonderful about little Edward. He grows more like you every day.’

‘Then it would appear that he is well on the way to becoming a paragon of all the virtues ... in his mother’s eyes at least. Now tell me more of these suggested visits.’

‘She wants to see for herself.’

‘Then we must make grand preparations for her.’

‘Oh Edward, how good you are to me!’

He smiled a little grimly. The festivities would be paid for out of the money she had brought into the country. The exchequer was low. When was it not? They were an extravagant family, these Plantagenets. Some spent on themselves and their families like Henry the Third, some on their favourites like Edward. Some on wars like his grandfather. He himself was not averse to a certain extravagance in dress. In fact he liked it very much. A king, after all, must appear in royal splendour to please his subjects and to impress his enemies—otherwise people would begin to wonder whether he was indeed a king.

‘We must make a really rich show for her. Your father will not travel with her, I suppose?’

‘He could not leave Hainault. Isabella will stay with him. She is the only one of us who is unmarried.’

‘I doubt she will remain so for long.’

‘It must be lonely for her ... with us all gone away. First me to you and then Margaret to Emperor Louis of Bavaria and then Jeanne to the Court of Juliers. It must be so different now.’

‘Speaking of families reminds me. I want my sister Eleanor to come to you.’

‘To come to me? To stay, you mean?’

‘Yes, I want her to join your household. You see, Philippa, what has happened to our mother has been a shock to us all. I do not know how Eleanor feels, for I would not ask her. You are good and kind and sweet and I want you to take her under your care. I want you to comfort her.’

Philippa’s eyes were gentle.

‘My dear Edward, you can rely on me to do everything I can to make her happy.’

Edward regarded her with emotion.

Did ever a man have so perfect a wife?

It was a great comfort to the Princess Eleanor to join the household of her sister-in-law. Philippa welcomed her warmly and the friendly homely atmosphere which the Queen had brought to her Court was just what Eleanor needed at this time.

There had been so many shocks in her life. She had quickly learned that her parents were at war with each other. She had heard whispers which she did not understand about the Despensers. She remembered seeing a swinging body on a rope and she and Joanna had huddled together afraid to look out of their window and yet unable to stop themselves although they knew that their dreams would be haunted by that sight for a long time to come. Then her father had disappeared and her mother had come from France with the Earl of March; afterwards her father had died and then, most frightening of all, Joanna had been taken away from her and married to the Prince of Scotland. She had never really recovered from that shock for she and Joanna had always been together until then. They had shared the same household. The Lady Isabella de Valence had been their guardian and Johanette Jermyn their governess, while John de Tresk had looked after their wardrobe. They had been a happy household and then gradually she had noticed an apprehension descend upon them. In those early days she had never thought of life without Joanna, and then suddenly her sister was whisked away. Poor sad little Joanna, who had been so frightened and clung to her at night and declared she would never never go. But the day had come and they had all travelled up to Scotland—except Edward. He would not come and people said it was because he did not like Joanna’s being sent away.

And ever since Eleanor had realized that she might have been the one to be sent into that cold harsh country to live among strangers, away from her home, from Edward, Philippa, Lady de Valence and the rest. They might have allowed Johanette to go with her but after a while princesses’ countrymen and women were always sent home. Philippa’s had been but that was not important for Philippa had Edward and that was what she wanted; and now they had the dear little baby.

It was a joyful day for Eleanor when she heard that instead of being sent away to some foreign land she was to go into the Queen’s household. This was balm; it would almost make up for the loss of Joanna; and it was Philippa’s intention that it should.

There was the baby to be admired, for Philippa did not behave in the least as Eleanor’s mother had. Eleanor had rarely seen Queen Isabella during her childhood and when she did there was so much to be remembered—curtseying in the correct manner, giving the right answers to the questions which were directed at her, and although few were she had always to be ready in case they might be. Philippa was quite different. She liked to sit with her baby in her lap with Eleanor on a stool while they talked of him and to him and marvelled at him.

Eleanor wished that Joanna could have been there so that she could have enjoyed this life before being taken away to Scotland.

Philippa did a great deal to soothe Eleanor’s fears. She was sure, she said, that when Eleanor married it would be someone she loved as she, Philippa, loved Edward. Philippa never tired of telling of the romantic way in which Edward had come to her father’s Court and how the four girls had liked him so much but that there was something special between her and Edward, and she told of how frightened she had been that she might not be the chosen one.

In time Eleanor’s dreams ceased to be haunted by disaster. The days were pleasant. She saw more of Edward than she ever had before and she thought she was indeed lucky to have such a brother and a new sister who was good and kind and who helped her to understand what was expected of her.

The great excitement now was the coming of the Countess of Hainault. Philippa had not seen her mother since her marriage; her excitement was infectious and Eleanor was caught up in it.

Edward joined them and they excitedly discussed the arrangements for the entertainments they would give. Edward was determined that all due honour should be paid to the mother of his Queen. He loved to joust for he excelled at the sport. His long arms and legs gave him an advantage and since the death of Mortimer and retirement of his mother an aura of kingship had settled on him. Each day he grew more and more like his grandfather but he loved splendour far more than Edward the First ever had. Edward certainly liked to show off his handsome looks and figure with fine clothes and to appear before his people as a champion; but it was an understandable vanity and the people enjoyed it.

‘There shall be tournaments in and around London,’ he said. ‘We will begin with Dartmouth and Stepney and the best of all shall be Cheapside. I will ride out through the streets with fifteen chosen knights and we will challenge any to come against us.’

‘It will be magnificent,’ cried the Queen.

‘I shall have a gallery put up across the road and you ladies shall watch the joust from it.’

‘My mother will be most grateful for your kindness in entertaining her so lavishly,’ said Philippa, but she was thinking of the cost, for she had been amazed at the poverty of England—. which was still feeling the effect of the extravagances, first of Gaveston, then the Despensers and after that Mortimer—when compared with the prosperity of Hainault which was so much smaller and of less importance in the world than England. She was sure that something should be done about it. But with the King glowing with anticipation at the pleasure in store this was not the time to talk about the country’s poverty.

Philippa’s happiness was complete when the Countess arrived. She and her daughter clung together for a while and the Countess was clearly longing to be alone with Philippa. When they were she said : ‘Now I can look at you clearly. You look radiant, my dearest child. So it is all as wonderful as you told me in your letters?’

‘I am perfectly happy,’ Philippa assured her.

‘I guessed you were. You could never deceive anyone, Philippa. It is not in your nature and I rejoice in that. Edward is a good husband to you, is he?’

‘I could not have a better. I knew from the moment I saw him.’

‘There are few who are as fortunate as you, dear child. Your father will be delighted when I return and tell him how things are here. There is some talk about Edward’s intention to claim the crown of France.’

‘He has a right through his mother,’ answered Philippa. The Countess shook her head. ‘Philip would never give it up. It would be a long and bitter war.’

‘I think Edward realizes this. But he says there is a claim through his mother.’

‘You know he would have the support of Hainault if you did go to war, but I hope it never comes to that. I fear little could be gained by it and it would mean long separations. It is never good for husband and wife to be apart from each other. Yet sometimes with kings it is necessary. And with wars ...’

‘Do not fear, dear mother,’ said Philippa. ‘Edward is wise. He is no longer guided by his mother and Mortimer. He has changed a great deal. You see, he was so young. He is not very old now.’

The Countess nodded. ‘So many burdens on such young shoulders!’

‘Edward is capable of carrying them. Of that I have no doubt.’

The Countess kissed her daughter. ‘Now where is this wonder child?’ she said.

Edward was produced and showed what both declared to be an extraordinarily intelligent interest in his grandmother.

They talked of the Court of Hainault and Philippa’s sisters. The Countess was a little sad to lose her daughters. ‘It is inevitable though and we still have Isabella. Though her turn will come I doubt not. Your father and I miss you all very much. But when I go home and tell him how happy you are it will be a great consolation to him.’

Days of feasting followed and the climax of the celebrations was to be the tournament in Cheapside between Wood Street and Queen Street. For days men had been at work preparing the site and a beautiful wooden gallery had been constructed on the King’s orders. It stretched from one side of the road to the other and would place the ladies in the best possible position to witness the jousting.

Philippa was very anxious that Eleanor should enjoy the festivities and insisted on having the young girl beside her. It was thus that she found herself often in the company of Raynald, the Earl of Gueldres and Zutphen. The Earl, a handsome man of great charm, was clearly struck by the fresh innocence of the young girl. Philippa was delighted that he should notice her and Eleanor should appear to be so happy in his company.

‘Alas, poor child,’ she said to her mother, ‘she has had such an unhappy childhood and as mine was so happy I feel I want to do everything I can for her.’

‘You always had the sweetest nature in the family,’ her mother told her fondly.

Philippa went on: ‘She seems to enjoy Raynald’s company. I think he admires her. It will be good for Eleanor to enjoy the society of such a man and she knows he is far too old to be considered as a possible husband. He has four daughters I believe ... as you and my father did.’

‘He has recently lost his wife,’ the Countess added. ‘So he may well be looking for a wife.’

‘If Eleanor were older and he younger I would say they might fall in love.’

‘You are so romantic,’ said the Countess. ‘You fell in love with Edward when you first saw him and I shall never forget how terrified you were that one of your sisters might be chosen to marry him.’

‘My fears were groundless. There was never any question of one of them being chosen. Edward sent his Bishop to choose it is true but he told me afterwards that he warned the Bishop that if he valued his life he must choose me.’

‘I thought it had happened that way,’ said the Countess fondly. ‘And you are indeed fortunate. I am so glad that you realize it and, my dear child, I shall pray that you continue with Edward as you are now.’

For three days the King with fifteen of his chosen knights rode through the streets of London challenging all comers to the Lists. Edward looked magnificent. He was nineteen years of age now and fully grown to his great height, almost as long- legged as his grandfather and with the same flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and fair complexion. He looked, as his people thought, just as a king should look. They were proud of him. He was like a god riding through their streets, his cloak of green embroidered with golden arrows and lined with red silk. His squires rode behind him in white kirtles with green sleeves. It was, said the people, a goodly sight. The bright September sun shone benignly on the scene and at the windows of every house people watched the riders flash by. They cheered the King; they delighted in him. At last he had come to power and manhood. He had destroyed the ruthless brutal grasping Mortimer whom they had all hated. He had acted with discretion towards his mother; he had never forgotten that she was his mother and, although he had realized that she was guilty of great crimes, he had set her up in some small state in Castle Rising where she would remain for a while until time showed him what to do. It was said that none dared criticize her in his hearing, which showed a good loyalty; and on the other hand he had not seen her since the death of her paramour; she had remained in Castle Rising.

And there was the Queen—rosy-cheeked, a little buxom, kindly and splendidly gowned, her crown on her head, her silk gown embroidered with pearls and gold, her cloak of velvet trimmed with ermine. She might have lacked the outstanding beauty of the last Queen, but no one wanted to be reminded of her; and if there was something a little homely about Philippa’s countenance it shone with the softness of a good and kindly nature. She had made their King happy; she had given them their Prince; and already people were remembering little acts of kindness and the girl whom she had saved from execution.

The people of London were content with their King and Queen and little Prince. So they flocked to the Lists and they wanted to see their King triumphant.

It was like the days of great Edward all over again.

Philippa with her mother, Eleanor and a few of the noblest ladies mounted the tower, seated themselves and prepared to watch the pageantry.

The trumpets were sounding; the crowd were cheering; the royal procession to the Lists had begun.

The musicians walked before the horsemen, playing as they came. These were followed by the squires of the King’s household in their shining livery. Then the King himself. Edward’s love of dress was clearly shown, as for each day of the tournaments he had chosen different costumes. He had decided that on this day he and his knights should be disguised as Tartars, and ferocious they looked in long fur cloaks and high hats.

As he rode in the Lists Edward’s first glance was for the Queen in the gallery, seated there with her mother, his sister and the ladies of the Court. The King bowed low and the Queen immediately rose to return his greeting; as she did so everyone in the gallery rose too; and as they sat down there was a creaking sound, followed by a scream from one of the ladies, for the gallery seemed to reel and cave in and suddenly it had collapsed in a cloud of dust.

There was a moment of silence before pandemonium broke out. The King had dashed to the falling structure. Philippa, her gown covered in dust, her bright cheeks smudged with it, stood up. She was unharmed. The gallery had been made of light wood; it was too flimsy for the weight of the ladies and it had never been tested to see if it would take the weight of so many people.

‘Philippa,’ cried the King, ‘are you hurt?’

She laughed at him. ‘No, my lord. A little shaken. It was so sudden. I was not expecting it.’

It was a relief to discover that no one was hurt. People were crowding in on the scene and Edward shouted to them to stand back. He was clearly shaken and concerned for the ladies and in particular his wife.

‘How could such a thing happen?’ he demanded.

‘Well, we are safe,’ Philippa reassured him. ‘Only a little shaken and our gowns dirty. Oh, Edward, I hope it has not spoilt the day for you. You must not let it.’

She had seen a frown gathering on Edward’s brow and she knew what that meant. He was angry. She dreaded his anger. She had seen very little of it and it had never once been directed against her, but she had heard of the Plantagenet temper. It seemed most of them had it, and in some it was more violent than in others. Henry the Third and King John used to lie on the floor and bite the rushes in their accesses of rage; Henry the Third had only mildly possessed it and Edward the First had had it under control, as this Edward would; but there were occasions when it would break out and this was one of them.

‘I want the men who built this gallery found and brought here to me,’ he said. There was a brief pause. ‘Find them,’ he shouted, ‘and bring them to me without delay.’

Philippa said gently: ‘It is all over. We are not harmed. Such accidents can happen.’

‘Such accidents can happen only once in my kingdom,’ he retorted. He looked at her pleasant face smudged with dirt and her torn gown. His Philippa, who might so easily have been killed. The thought of what could have happened to Philippa enraged him still further.

‘Why is there this delay?’ he shouted. ‘Find those men. Bring them here. By God, they will wish they had never been born.’

Philippa laid her hand on his arm but he shrugged it aside. He was intent only on giving vent to his anger.

The men had been found. They came fearfully and the expression on their faces when they saw the fallen gallery and dishevelled ladies set them trembling. The King, looking ferocious in his Tartar’s robes, demanded to know why this had happened.

The men could only stare blankly.

‘Why was it not tested to see if it would stand the weight?’

‘My lord ... there was not time,’ said their spokesman. ‘It was only finished an hour or so before the joust was to begin.’

‘You fools, you knaves ... do you know this could have cost the Queen her life?’

Philippa said quickly: ‘My lord, it was light and flimsy. We could have had a fall at the worst. See, I am not harmed at all.’

But the King would not listen. He was whipping himself to fury, exaggerating the damage, intent on inflicting the utmost punishment on these careless men whose shoddy work had spoilt the day and could have caused harm to the Queen.

‘Take them away from here,’ he shouted. ‘Put a rope around their necks and let them be hanged until they be dead.’

There was a hushed silence in the crowd. One of the workmen, only a boy, fell to his knees and began to whimper.

The King turned his face away and shouted : ‘Take them away. Let it be done.’

Philippa was horrified. She thought of the families of those men, robbed of the breadwinners; she thought of the loves of wives for their husbands and mothers for their sons and she would not let it happen.

She knelt suddenly before the King. She took his hand and said: ‘My lord, you have said that you love and honour me. You have showered many gifts on me. There is nothing I want more than the lives of these men. If they die by the rope I shall remember them all my life. I have suffered no harm. Nor have these ladies. The gallery was erected in a hurry. Please, my lord, I beg of you, as you love me, spare these men.’

The King looked at her, with her hair loose about her shoulders and her dear kind eyes full of tears; the grief apparent on the face which he was accustomed to see merry and content.

He hesitated and she waited, watching him.

Then she said: ‘My lord, if you will not grant this request, I shall never be completely happy again. I shall always remember what was done to these men who wished me no ill and are your loyal subjects.’

The King said : ‘Let the men go free. My Queen pleads for them with such passion that I cannot resist her.’

The Queen covered her face for the tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. There were sudden deafening cheers. They filled the streets; the people were surging forward.

‘God bless the Queen!’ they cried. ‘God bless good Queen Philippa.’

The Countess returned to Hainault happy with her visit to England. There could be no doubt of Philippa’s happiness and she certainly seemed the most fortunate of princesses to have enjoyed a happy childhood and to slip so easily into a happy marriage.

There was one matter of concern to Philippa. She knew that the celebrations given in honour of her mother had been very costly, and her frugal outlook on life would not let her accept this. She compared her own country with England; a small country but with a rich economy; she decided it was because the people of Hainault worked harder than the English.

She talked to Edward about this and he was at first amused by her but after a while he saw that she was talking sense. It was true that the economy of the country was not flourishing. There was a great deal of poverty in certain areas. Through the reign of his father and of Mortimer there had been no thought of making the best of the country’s resources; wealth was appropriated and absorbed by favourites who used it not for the good of the country but for their own pleasure.

She had seen at once that the wool produced in England, which was reckoned to be the best in the world, would be more profitable to the country if it were made into cloth instead of the wool’s being exported to the Low Countries, there to be made into cloth and brought back to England.

Edward considered this and could see the logic in it.

Our people are not weavers,’ he said. ‘They do not care to work as hard as the people of Flanders. They like to keep their sheep, watch over them, and wait for the shearing time.’

They would be more prosperous if they worked harder. A country needs prosperity, Edward. It is happier because of it.’

He conceded this. ‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ he said.

‘I want to send for some cloth weavers to come to England and set up a colony of weavers here. Then we can make our own cloth ... a little at first, and then increase it. I would like to see English cloth—not only wool—the best in the world.’

‘Well, my wise Queen, let us proceed with this.’

‘So I have your permission to write to one I know who excels in the craft?’

‘My dearest wife and Queen, you have indeed.’

Philippa immediately wrote to a certain John Kempe of Flanders. If he would come to England with his servants, apprentices and everything he needed to carry on his business he would have the protection of the King; and it was his wish that they should build up a flourishing cloth-weaving industry in England.

Philippa was delighted because she fully believed that hard work was the way to prosperity.

There was a great deal that John Kempe wanted clarified before he could take this great step. But the project had started and although it took a year or so to be put into action, Philippa’s wisdom was in due course responsible for the setting up in Norfolk of a cloth-making industry which was to bring prosperity not only to Norfolk but to the whole of England.

The Princess Eleanor was to be married. Oddly enough the prospect excited her. There was something about the Earl of Gueldres which fascinated her. It might have been that she heard so much from Philippa of the romantic meeting between her and Edward, how they had loved at first sight and the evidence of her own eyes told, her how happy that had turned out to be.

Eleanor was only thirteen years old but many girls were married at that age; Philippa herself had not been much older and it seemed that the King was satisfied with the Earl of Gueldres as a husband for his sister.

Philippa wondered whether Edward still thought about taking the French crown. If he did he would need friends on the Continent. Her own marriage had really come about because of an alliance between two countries. If Queen Isabella and Mortimer had not needed an army they would never have consented to a match between Hainault and England. Philippa shuddered at the thought of how much her happiness had depended on chance.

Eleanor discussed Raynald with Philippa and Philippa encouraged her for she knew from Edward that he had decided on the match; therefore if Eleanor could fall in love with her future husband Philippa would be delighted.

‘There is something rather exciting about him,’ said Eleanor with a smile.

Philippa agreed that there was indeed.

‘Of course he is rather old ...’

Eleanor waited for Philippa to defend age which she did promptly. ‘There is a great deal to be said for experience,’ she commented.

‘Would you have loved Edward if he had been married before?’

‘I should have loved Edward whatever had happened to him,’ said Philippa vehemently.

‘Suppose he had had four daughters?’

‘I should have loved them as I did his sisters.’

‘I suppose daughters are different from sisters.’

‘It would have made no difference,’ declared Philippa. ‘If one loves nothing can make any difference.’

‘Do you think he is handsome?’

‘Very! ‘ said Philippa.

‘They call him Raynald de Swerte in his own country. Do you think he is swarthy? He is very dark of complexion is he not?’

‘It is most attractive. It makes him seem strong, a little fierce ... as a man should be.’

‘You must prefer fair men. Edward is so fair.’

‘I do not love him for the colour of his hair.’

‘No, one does not. In truth I think a little swarthiness is rather attractive.’

‘And so do I,’ said Philippa. ‘But don’t tell Edward.’ Eleanor laughed. How comforting they were, these conversations.

Philippa encouraged them and each day she was preparing Eleanor for her coming marriage. In private she was often a little uneasy and she discussed Raynald with Edward and asked him if he really thought the match was a good one.

‘I must find a husband for Eleanor,’ he said. ‘You know I have tried for Alfonso of Castile and for the son and heir of the King of France. I have tried too for the son of the King of Aragon. All these have been considered and have come to nothing. Eleanor has been rejected three times. I begin to think this might tell against her. I should like to see her married soon before it is believed that there is some spell working against her. I would not want her to remain unmarried.’

‘It seems wrong that she should marry this man because other offers came to nothing. Is it not true that this so happens in royal circles?’

‘Indeed it does, but I want Eleanor married and I can do with Raynald’s help. It is an astonishing thing but these small provinces seem to have more than I have myself of the things I need ... money ... arms ... men ... all that is necessary to succeed in conquest. And it may well be that if I do not have to contest the crown of France I may have to go to Scotland again some day. I shall need help, Philippa, and I am more likely to get it within my own family than anywhere else.’

‘Raynald is a somewhat ambitious man.’

‘All rulers worth their salt are ambitious.’

‘I did not like what he did to his father.’

‘My dear gentle Philippa, you are too good for this world. Have I not always said that Raynald’s father was a weak man. Had he continued to reign there would have been nothing worth-while for Raynald to inherit. So he forestalled destiny that was all.’

‘By imprisoning his own father! I have heard that he kept him in prison for six years and he was an old man.’

‘We must admire Raynald. He took over a tottering province ... Had he not done so there would have been nothing for him to take over.’

‘He kept his father in prison until he died.’

‘Yes, yes, but what did he do? He ruled well, with immense skill and vigour. And the result. Now Gueldres, though small, is one of the most important of the minor European countries. What he has done is admirable, Philippa, even though it meant supplanting his own father. In fact all he did was take six years earlier that which would have in time been his and he took it before it could be rendered useless. He has shown himself a good soldier and wise ruler. He is highly respected in Europe and I tell you this : even the King of France would think twice before entering into a disagreement with him. I shall welcome him as my brother-in-law.’

‘I think Eleanor is quite happy.’

‘I doubt not that you have helped her to recognize her good fortune.’

‘I have. But I do hope he will be kind to her.’

‘Of a certainty he will be kind to my sister.’

‘He is an ambitious man and she is not yet fifteen. He chose his first wife for her wealth I believe, for I heard that that exceeded her rank, and that the marriage took place when the bride’s parents promised to pay all his debts.’

‘Of one thing we can be sure. Eleanor’s brother will not be able to oblige him in the same manner.’

‘This time he marries a Princess of England.’

‘Ah, my Philippa, you are too gentle and loving for this world of ambition. Not that I would have you otherwise. Eleanor like her sister must marry where she can best help her country. I am delighted that she is not displeased with our swarthy hero. But had she been, there would have been no help for it. To Gueldres she must go as poor little Joanna went to Scotland. The fate of Princesses, my love.’

‘I know it well and I thank God that I was able to follow my heart. I shall never cease to thank Fate or God, or whoever ordained it, for the day when you came riding through the forest of Hainault; and I only had to look at you to love you.’

‘As I did you. As soon as I saw you I said: “There is my Queen,” and I made up my mind in that first moment.’

‘I shall pray that Eleanor knows as much happiness as we do.’

‘But you know, my love, that is impossible for no one could.’

Edward was determined that his sister should go to her new country well equipped and there was great excitement in her apartments where her wardrobe was being made ready with Philippa presiding over it. She made Eleanor try on her clothes and laughingly pointed out that she herself could not have done so. She was far too plump and very different from the willowy Eleanor. How beautiful was the cloak of blue Brussels cloth edged with ermine, the robe of Spanish cloth of gold which the young girl would wear on her wedding day; there were pelisses worked with gold thread and sparkling with silver beads and surtunics of velvet and cloth of silver. The King had presented her costly jewelled ornaments; there were coronals set with pearls and diamonds and several zones artistically wrought in rubies and emeralds.

Not only would she take with her clothes and jewels but also many items of furniture, chief of which was the bridal bed.,a magnificent object with Tripoli silk curtains most ex- qu!sitely embroidered and decorated in gold with the entwined arms of England and Gueldres. There was a chariot, another gift from her brother, decorated with her coat of arms, and lined with purple velvet spattered with golden stars; and there were chairs, tables, carpets, curtains and gold and silver plate; even tankards, table knives, dishes and spoons were to be taken with her.

Edward was determined that she should go into her new country equipped as a royal princess.

Nor was it only clothes and furniture which Eleanor took with her. Three tons of provisions were prepared for her including cinnamon, saffron, ginger, rice, dates, one hundred and twenty-seven pounds of white loaf sugar and two hundred pounds of Cyprus sugar to satisfy her rather sweet tooth.

Eleanor made sure too that she had a good supply of sandalwood, which finely powdered was a fleshy shade of red, for she was very pale of complexion and, admiring the natural rosy cheeks of her sister-in-law, liked to touch her own up with sandalwood to give her a healthy glow.

Several vessels were needed to convey everything across the sea and these were already being loaded in Sandwich.

The day arrived for her to set out. She took a fond and rather tearful farewell of her brother and Philippa. As a last- minute present the latter gave her a magnificently furred robe and Edward presented her with six altar cloths which she might give to the churches she passed on her journey to her new country.

It was a splendid cavalcade which travelled down to the coast. Eleanor rode at its head and among the company were one hundred and thirty-six men servants—pages, salterers, poulterers, sumpterers, chamber women, washermen, stewards knights and esquires.

All along the route people came out to see the procession pass. This was very different from the marriage of Eleanor’s sister, Joanna. That marriage had not pleased the people at all. But Eleanor was clearly not unhappy.

The people were pleased with their new King so it was cheers for his sister and the match with Gueldres.

Philippa missed her young sister-in-law, but she was deeply absorbed in her own life because to her joy she had become pregnant again.

She had gone once more to Woodstock where her precious first-born Edward had made his appearance.

‘I have a fancy,’ she said, ‘that Woodstock is lucky for me.’

And Edward was, of course, only too happy to indulge her wishes.

Preparations were made for the birth of the child and the two cradles were ready awaiting their occupant. One, the state cradle was very grand and of course would be used only for state occasions when the nobility would wish to inspect the child. This cradle which bore the arms of England and Hainault was beautifully lined with gilded taffeta and had a fur coverlet made from six hundred and seventy skins which could hardly be used until the baby was a few months older and winter had set in.

And on the sixteenth day of June of that year 1332 Philippa gave birth to her second child. This time it was a daughter, as beautiful and physically perfect as her brother had been.

The King was delighted and if he would have preferred another boy he did not show this. He loved the little girl as much as he loved her brother and no child could have come into the world with a greater welcome.

The King had been thinking a great deal about his mother. He had in fact on one occasion visited her at Castle Rising where he heard from her attendants that she suffered from bouts of madness and how her grief was so great at such times that they feared she might do herself an injury. He spoke to her gently, for he could not forget all she had once meant to him, and he gave orders that never must she be treated with less respect than was due to her rank and none must forget that she was his mother.

It was necessary, of course, to keep her at Castle Rising and he did not wish to see her too often for, although his conscience troubled him concerning the fact that she was virtually a prisoner, whenever he saw her horrible thoughts came into his mind about the death of his father. All efforts to find the murderers had so far come to nothing, but he believed that in due course they would be delivered to him; and when they were and he had avenged his father perhaps he would feel easier in his mind.

His mixed feelings of sorrow and uncertainty about his mother led him to suggest that his daughter be named after her. He suggested it tentatively to Philippa who immediately understood his feelings.

It is a beautiful name,’ she said. ‘Yes, I should like our first daughter to be named Isabella.’

Young Isabella flourished. She was placed under the care of Sir William and Lady Omer, while a young girl named Joanna Gaunbun was put in attendance, her duties being that of a rocker and her pallet bed was placed beside the cradle so that at any hour of the night she could attend to the baby if need be.

Philippa nursed the child herself. She could not bear to pass it over to any other; and, unlike her predecessor, she spent many happy hours in the nursery.