The Hammer of the Scots

Chapter I THE KING COMES HOME

Although the King had been dead for more than a year, the Queen still mourned him. Somewhere across the sea was her son, the new King, who must now return to claim his crown. The Queen, who had so long ruled her husband, and therefore the Court, had been prostrate with grief. She could think of nothing but that he had gone for ever – that dear kind husband who had adored her from the day she had been presented to him as his bride.

She often smiled to recall how, when their marriage had been negotiated, he had haggled over the paucity of her dowry and there had been a time when it had seemed that because of her father’s poverty there would be no marriage. Yet as soon as he had set eyes on her such a consideration had been of no importance whatsoever, and from that moment and throughout his life he had made no secret of the fact that he considered himself the most fortunate of monarchs to have secured as his wife this dowerless daughter of an impoverished count. It was love at first sight and had continued throughout their lives. She had ruled him and that had made for connubial bliss such as was rarely experienced in royal households. That she had attempted to rule England at the same time had brought about less happy results.

And now he was dead, and she lay alone on this magnificent royal bed in the Palace of Westminster in this splendid chamber which was the wonder of all who beheld it. The King was responsible for its beauty. Henry had loved art, literature, music and architecture. Often he had said he wished he could escape the trials of monarchy and follow those pursuits at which he would have excelled. Some of the barons had exchanged covert looks at such times implying that it would have been a good thing for the country if he had. The barons could be insolent. They had had too much power since Henry’s father John had been forced to put his signature to that Magna Carta document which had thrown a shadow over their lives.

She liked to lie in bed and survey this room and recall how they had planned it together. The murals were exquisite. Henry had been a deeply religious man and had ordered that angels be painted on the ceiling. ‘One could lie in bed and believe one was in Heaven,’ she had said. And, always the ardent lover, Henry had replied that when she was with him he was.

‘Oh God,’ she said aloud, ‘why did You have to take him? There could have been many years left to us.’

She remembered how they had come here often to watch the workmen. ‘It must be finished before the summer is over,’ Henry had said. ‘If you have to hire a thousand workmen a day I will have it done.’ ‘The cost, my lord –’ they had whined. How impatient Henry grew at this continual harping on money! He had shrugged aside such excuses. The people would pay. Why not? The London merchants were rich and there were always the Jews. ‘People have no souls,’ he had said to her. ‘They are always worrying about money.’

Oh yes, a good and religious man Henry had been. There was evidence of his piety in this room. Even on the window jambs texts from the Bible had been carved. Scenes from the life of Edward the Confessor were painted on the walls to bear out the fact that Henry had admired the Confessor far more than he had any of his warlike ancestors. ‘A noble king,’ he had said. ‘I would I could be like him.’ She had challenged him. She hoped, she had said, he would not have preferred to live like a monk and he did not regret his life with her which had produced their lovely children. How he had soothed her, reassured her! In his family circle he was the happiest man alive. It was only the barons who had tormented him because they were always trying to rule him, and the merchants of London who would not give of their wealth for the improvement of the country. People should pay for their privileges. His favourite motto was actually engraved on one of the gables of this room: ‘He who does not give what he holds, does not receive what he wishes.’ There was a warning to his rapacious subjects who made such a fuss about paying their taxes.

She must stop brooding on the past. The future had to be considered. But what future was there for a dowager queen? Most of them went into convents, to live the last years of their lives in pious solitude that they might be forgiven those acts worldly needs had imposed on them.

That was not the life for Eleanor of Provence. She was a born ruler and she would not easily relinquish her role.

Edward would soon be returning to claim the crown. Her beloved firstborn – that son of whom she and Henry had been so proud. In the meantime she was still the Queen, and she would allow no one to forget it.

When her women came in for the dressing ceremony the Queen’s first question was: ‘How are the children?’

They knew that she would ask and they were ready, having ascertained that all was well in the royal nursery before coming to her. Her grandchildren were now her greatest concern and since the death of little Prince John she had made a point before rising of assuring herself that there was no cause for anxiety.

The children were well, she was assured.

‘And Prince Henry has had a good night?’

‘He said it was so, my lady.’

She smiled and took the shift which was offered to her.

When she had completed her toilette and taken a little ale with oaten bread, one of the men at arms came in to tell her that there was a messenger without who wished to see her.

She received him immediately, and even as he knelt before her and she bade him rise she guessed that he came from her son Edward. She was right.

‘My lady,’ said the messenger, ‘the King has sent me to you with all speed. He is on his way to England and if the wind is fair should be with you within the next few days.’

She nodded. She had been expecting such a message for many months.

As soon as she had dismissed the messenger she went to the nursery. She had insisted that while their parents were absent the children should be under her care. They alone could relieve the gloom which descended on her when she thought of her late husband. They had brought great anxieties of course. The death of little John had been an agony but then Henry had been there to help her bear it.

How they had wept and stormed at the physicians who could not save that young life. How they had clung together and comforted each other. Henry had said, ‘Edward is young yet. He will have many children. And thank God we have little Henry.’

It had been painful to have to send the news to Edward and his wife Eleanor of the death of their son: and that it should be followed almost immediately by news of that of his father was heartbreaking. Small wonder that those two who remained in the nursery were her special care, that she should ask every morning after the health of young Henry who was too frail for her comfort.

So she was now turning to the children for solace, and because she loved them so devotedly, following in the family tradition they adored her.

Her spirits were lifted when she heard their cries of joy as she entered the schoolroom. Precious children! Not only because their father was a king but because they were her grandchildren.

They were seated at the table – eight-year-old Princess Eleanor and her brother Henry who was a year younger. The Queen Mother could not look at them without overpowering emotion – half pain, half pleasure. She could not forget little John – who would have been the eldest of the three. Everything had been done to keep him alive but the saints when appealed to had been cruelly deaf to royal pleas; the physicians had advised and had failed to save him. There was not a known remedy in the kingdom which had not been tried, yet John had died. It was an ill-fated name, some said. How could they have expected a child named John to prosper? All the devils in hell had been waiting to receive the child’s great-grandfather who, some said, was the devil himself come back to earth for a brief spell. They had ignored such folly, but they would not give another child a name to which so much ill repute still clung.

The Princess Eleanor flung back her long yellow hair and ran to her grandmother, flinging her arms about her.

The Queen stroked the child’s hair. Of course she should have demanded the respect due to her but she would rather have this spontaneous show of affection from them than cold ceremony any day. Although there was no one who demanded the respect due to her rank more strongly than she did in public, in her family circle there was nothing but softness.

She held out a hand to Henry who was coming to her more slowly than his sister.

‘I am well, my lady, but Henry has been sick,’ said the Princess.

Quivers of alarm beset the Queen.

‘Henry, my darling child …’

‘Henry is always sick,’ said the Princess Eleanor somewhat disparagingly.

The little boy looked up at his grandmother appealingly. ‘I cannot help it, my lady. I try not to be.’

She picked him up and held him against her. How frail he was! This was how John went. What was wrong that a man like Edward could not get healthy boys? She and Henry had produced Edward – and surely a finer specimen of manhood did not exist.

She kissed the child. ‘I am going to make you well,’ she promised.

He put his arms about her neck and returned her kiss. ‘Then I shall run faster than anyone. I shall hunt and take my falcon into the forest.’

‘Yes, my love, so you shall, and when your father comes home he will find you grown into a tall and handsome prince.’

‘When is he coming home?’ asked the Princess.

‘Now that is what I have come to tell you. He is on his way. Very soon your father and mother will be here.’

The children looked very solemn. They had vague memories of a handsome golden man, the biggest man in the world, a giant. He had been strong and put them on his shoulders and carried them round the room. Henry had been a little frightened of him. Then there was their mother – memories of a soft voice, gentle hands. Henry had cried a good deal when she went away.

‘When, when …?’ demanded the Princess and Henry waited breathlessly for the answer.

The Queen Mother sat down and took Henry on her lap while Eleanor took a stool at their grandmother’s feet.

‘Will our grandfather come back with him?’ asked Henry.

‘Of course he won’t!’ cried the Princess scornfully. ‘He has gone to Heaven, hasn’t he, my lady? He went up to be with our brother John. People don’t come back from Heaven, do they, my lady?’

‘Why don’t they?’ asked Henry.

‘Because it’s so much better there of course,’ retorted the knowledgeable Eleanor.

‘I think my grandfather would come back to see me if he knew how much I ask him to.’

The Queen felt she must stop their innocent chatter or she would be unable to hold back her tears.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘you must prepare yourself for the return of the King and Queen.’

She told them as she had told them before – but they never tired of hearing it – how their father had gone to the Holy Land to fight for God and the Cross and their mother had gone with him and how, when he returned, because their dear grandfather was in Heaven, the people wanted to put the crown on his head.

‘And you, my little love, are heir to the throne so we have to build you up to be King.’

Henry looked alarmed. ‘When shall I have to be King?’

‘Not until you are a man and praise God not until a long time after that. But you must be ready when the time comes. You will learn to do everything better than anyone else can … as your father does. You will learn to be exactly like him.’

Henry remained puzzled and his grandmother kissed his forehead.

‘Don’t be alarmed, little one. I shall be there to show you.’

‘I’ll show him too,’ said the Princess, nestling close to her grandmother.

How adorable they were! And how alarmed was the Queen as she held the too-small body protectively in her arms.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘we must be ready to greet the King. We shall go to Dover to meet his ship, for the first thing he will wish to see when he steps onto the English soil will be his family. Oh, you are going to have a wonderful time. There will be a coronation … which neither of you have ever seen. Oh, I promise you life will be wonderful when King Edward comes home.’

Queen Eleanor stood beside Edward her husband as the ship brought them nearer and nearer to the coast. The white cliffs were visible now and Edward was obviously clearly moved by the sight of them.

He put his arm about her and said, ‘Soon you will see the castle. The key to England they call it. And you’ll understand why. There it stands … offering a menace to our enemies but a welcome to us. It is time we came home.’

She agreed. She always agreed with Edward. Taller than most men so that the majority of them came only to his shoulders, with his thatch of bright fair hair which was growing a little darker as he grew older, but which when she first knew him had been almost white, with his long legs and arms and magnificent physique inherited from his Norman ancestors, and which had earned him the name of Longshanks, he was godlike. The fact that one eye drooped a little – as his father’s had done, although this was not so noticeable in Edward as it had been in King Henry – gave him a slightly sinister look which she believed had stood him in good stead when he was dealing with his enemies. When Edward stood among other men he could be selected without question as the King and the leader. Edward was magnificent and she often wondered how she – little Eleanor of Castile – should have come to be the wife of such a glorious creature.

From the moment she had seen him she had been struck with wonder. Edward had been only fifteen years old then and she nearly five years younger. Much too young for marriage but royal princes and princesses were often betrothed at an early age. That was why very often the marriages did not take place. She knew that her family had not expected the English King – Edward’s father – to honour his pledges. Strangely enough her mother had been betrothed to Edward’s father but he had set her aside in order to marry Eleanor of Provence – now her formidable mother-in-law – and her grandmother was that Alice of France who had been sent to England to marry Richard Coeur de Lion, and about whom there had been a great scandal because when she was only a child Henry II had seduced her and kept her as his mistress for years so that she never married Coeur de Lion after all. So the English royal family had not a very good reputation for honouring its pledges. However, she was told that if the marriage did take place it would be a very grand one. She was after all only the half-sister of the King of Castile. Her father Ferdinand, the King of that country, had been old when he married her mother – who had been kept dangling with hopes of Henry of England – and he already had a son, Alfonso, so the marriage with England was highly desirable.

Joanna, her mother, was determined that her daughter should not share her fate and between them she and Alfonso had arranged that the betrothal should take place at Burgos and had declared that if Edward was not at Burgos to receive the hand of his bride by a certain date the contract should be set aside.

Somewhat to the astonishment of the Castilians Edward was there at the appointed time and the youthful Eleanor, on seeing her prospective bridegroom, was so overcome with admiration that she determined to grow up quickly, and learn all she could to be worthy of him.

What festivities there had been. Surely no Infanta had ever been so fêted; and of course it was all due to the importance of the union. She had sat beside Edward and marvelled at his splendid appearance. Moreover he had been so kind to her, so tender. He explained to her that she would have to go away to complete her education and as soon as she was ready he would come to claim her.

She had been terrified of her mother-in-law – one of the handsomest women she had ever seen – and her fear had not been calmed by her mother’s obvious animosity towards that lady. It was understandable, for the stately Queen from Provence had been the one who had supplanted Joanna in Henry’s affections and news of his uxurious attitude towards his Queen had spread even to Castile.

But the young girl had immediately loved her father-in-law, Henry King of England, who had received her so warmly and had kept her at his side during the sumptuous feast he had ordered should be prepared to honour her. ‘You are now a member of our family,’ he had told her; and she had learned that that was a privilege, not so much because it was the royal family of England, but because there could not have been a more loving and devoted one in the whole of the world.

The late King of England and his Queen may not have been the wisest of rulers, but they certainly had a talent for family life.

In her brother’s Court of Castile it had been pleasant enough, but it was not until she came to England that she realised what a warm and comforting thing family life could be. All she had to do was obey her husband and her mother-in-law; if she did this she would have their unbounded love.

It had been a wonderful day when she had joined her knightly husband. So kind, so loving and oddly enough so faithful had he been, though she soon heard rumours that while he had been waiting for her to be old enough he had had adventures and that many ladies of the Court were only too willing to surrender to him. Fortunately she only heard these rumours after her marriage, and then only because those who told her were struck by his conversion to a model husband.

So she had much to be thankful for, and the only time she had really asserted herself was when he had decided to go to the Holy Land. By that time she had shown herself to be a fertile wife – to the delight of the family – and in the nursery were John, Eleanor and little Henry. Edward had been deeply touched when she had stood before him and shown a firmness she had never displayed before.

‘Nothing should separate those whom God hath joined together,’ she had said, ‘and the way to Heaven is as near, if not nearer from Syria as from England or from Spain.’

She remembered the blank amazement in Edward’s face when she had said that. He had laughed aloud and held her firmly in his arms while he explained the discomforts and dangers of the expedition.

‘All these things,’ she had replied, ‘I know full well. They have been the subjects of our songs for more than a hundred years. I know of your great-uncle, Richard Coeur de Lion, who was a prisoner until he was rescued by the faithful Blondel. I am aware of the dangers which you will have to face and I, as your wife, would share them with you.’

He had shaken his head and told her that while he loved her for making the suggestion he must forbid her to carry it out.

Edward then learned that the seemingly weak can sometimes be strong and that it is as though they give way on the smaller issues reserving the full force of their strength for the larger ones.

She was determined to accompany him and she did. For he said he would not stand in the way of such love as that, and her father-in-law – good, kind King Henry – had listened with tears in his eyes and her mother-in-law had said that had she been in her place she would have insisted in the same way. Moreover the children would be in the good hands of their grandparents.

And so they had set out.

Of course she had suffered hardship and there had been times when she had thought longingly of the cool rains of England and the comforts of the royal palaces, for it was often uncomfortable – wretchedly so – sleeping in tents, pestered by flies and other obnoxious insects. And then she had become pregnant. Perhaps when she lost her little daughter a few days after her birth she had wondered whether she had been wise; but as soon as her depression over the loss had passed she knew she could never have stayed behind because it would have meant losing Edward and to share his life was of greater importance than being with her children.

And as though there was a sign from Heaven she had almost immediately conceived and this time a healthy child was born. She called this daughter Joanna after her mother, and Joanna had the dark looks of Castile rather than those of the fair Plantagenets; and from the first she was lively and wilful and a daughter to delight in.

People began to call her Joanna of Acre because of the place of her birth, and Edward said that the child would always remind him and the world of the wonderful wife he had who had accompanied him on his crusade and borne him a child during it.

There was another reason why she knew she had been right. That was when Edward had been wounded in his tent. If she had not been there would Edward have survived? He said not. His doctors claimed the credit, of course, while admitting that some was due to him for submitting to the painful surgery. But Edward always said it was her action which had saved his life, and Providence was telling them that God liked well a brave wife who would follow her husband no matter where his duty took him.

She would never think of that occasion without living again the dreadful moment when she thought she had lost him.

Of course they were surrounded by danger and Edward was notoriously reckless. These bold knights believed it was part of the bravery expected of them to shrug aside danger or refuse to see it. Oh, how relieved she was to see those white cliffs, that impregnable fortress defiant on the cliff. Danger could come to them in England. A king could never lie easy in his bed. Her brother had told her that and again and again it had been shown to be true. But in a Holy War, when they were surrounded by the Saracens, danger was not just a possibility, it was a certainty.

For as long as she would live she would have memories of the time she had spent in an alien land. Those still, hot nights, when a sudden noise could set her starting from her bed, would never be forgotten. Constantly they had been on the alert, for how could they know what fearful fate might overtake them at any moment, when there were a thousand dangers lurking waiting to spring? Often she had longed for home, and she knew that if she had asked Edward to let her go he would have arranged to send her back. But she had known she could never leave him. What would her life have been without him? She had once come close to discovering the answer to that question. In her nightmares now she would see the dead man lying on the floor of Edward’s tent, and Edward near to death stretched out on the bed. One glance had told her what had happened. The assassin had attempted to kill Edward and Edward had killed him. But in those first moments she had thought that Edward himself had been mortally wounded in the struggle.

There was evil in that land and rumours were always circulating about the Old Man of the Mountains – a fabled creature who might have existed. Who could be sure? It was said that the Old Man lived in the mountains where he had created a paradise on earth. His palace there was made of chalcedony and marble, and in its gardens luscious fruits and colourful flowers grew in abundance. Men were lured to it, as mermaids were said to lure sailors to disaster. These victims lived in the Old Man’s paradise for many months with beautiful women to wait on them and supply their needs. Then one day the Old Man would send for them and tell them they were banished and must go back to the world. To have experienced this life for so long had affected these men so deeply that they could not contemplate living any differently. The Old Man would tell them that they could win their way back by carrying out his orders, and these dangerous assignments usually involved the murder of someone whom the Old Man wished destroyed. Thus the Old Man created a band of assassins who killed at his will which meant that he was a power throughout the world.

Many people believed that it was the Old Man of the Mountains who had wanted Edward removed, although ostensibly his attacker came from the Emir of Joppa to whose employ he had recently come. The Emir was negotiating peace terms with Edward at that time and his messengers came frequently and freely to the camp. Thus it was that he aroused no suspicion and was allowed into Edward’s tent where he was lying on his bed without his armour and vulnerable to an assassin who could easily have plunged the knife into his heart, which was of course what had been intended. But Edward was alert, and his quick eye had detected the dagger which was slipped from the sleeve and raised to strike him, and with great presence of mind he had lifted his legs and kicked aside the raised arm. The action saved his life but he had not escaped entirely and the poisoned blade went deep into his arm.

She shivered and Edward, standing beside her, noticed.

‘You are cold?’ he asked in surprise.

She shook her head. ‘Nay. I was thinking of the assassin.’

Edward laughed softly. How often had he found her lost in thought and discovered that she was thinking of the assassin?

‘It is all over, my dear. Thanks to your action my life was saved.’

She shook her head. ‘It was the doctors who saved you. They performed that difficult operation …’

He winced at the memory. He had never experienced such pain. She had wanted to stay in the tent while the operation was performed but they had insisted on her leaving. Once more she had shown that sternness in her nature and they had had to carry her protesting away.

‘I shall never forget how you put your mouth to that ugly wound and drained away the poison with your sweet lips,’ he said. ‘Eleanor, my Queen, if ever I forget what you did for me I deserve to lose my kingdom.’

‘Do not talk of losing your kingdom. It could be unlucky.’

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘My grandfather lost his kingdom and all his possessions besides, even the crown jewels he lost in the Wash. My father came very near to losing his crown. What sort of king shall I be?’

‘The best the country has ever known.’

‘A rash pronouncement.’

‘Nevertheless a true one.’

‘You look fierce and stern. I believe, my little Queen, that all this gentleness is a disguise. Beneath is a woman of iron strength.’

‘I can be strong … for you and our children.’

He bent and kissed her. She touched his arm … that arm which was scarred with the wound and would never be quite well again.

‘You still feel it, don’t you, Edward?’

‘’Tis nothing. Only a twinge.’

But she knew it was not so. There were times when his face was grey with pain. She feared that all his life he would be reminded of that fearful moment in the tent when he had come face to face with death.

‘God means you to rule and be a great king,’ she said. ‘I know it. You see how you are protected. Do you remember that night in Bordeaux when we were seated on the couch talking of home and the children and suddenly lightning struck? The two men who were standing close to us were both killed but we were unharmed.’

‘They were in the direct path of the lightning.’

‘Yes, but we were saved. I believe Providence diverted it so that you should live to rule your country.’

He smiled at her. ‘You really believe that, Eleanor?’

‘I am sure of it,’ she said fervently.

He could see that she was comforted by the thought and he reminded her of another occasion when he was playing chess and had suddenly risen from the board without any reason – and afterwards could not say why he had done so. Almost immediately part of the roof had collapsed, killing his opponent at the board.

They both turned their faces to the shore and now his thoughts were going back to his attempts to recover his strength after that poison had entered his body. He remembered the throbbing pain of his lacerated arm and the agony of the knife which had cut away the gangrenous flesh and the looks on the faces of those about him which showed clearly that they believed they would leave him behind in the Holy Land.

But he had survived. By God, he thought now, there had been so much to survive for. There was England which would be his. There were his wife and his children … his father and mother … the sacred family which he had been brought up to believe was the most important thing a man could possess. But there was something more important if that man was a king. He had known it for a long time. The blood of his ancestors was in him and sometimes in his dreams it was as if those great men of the past came to him. William the Conqueror, Henry the Lion of Justice, his great-grandfather Henry II – those men who had cared for England, who had made it great. It was as though they said to him, ‘It is your turn now. You have the qualities we need. You, Edward Plantagenet, with the blood of the Normans in your veins. England – our England – has suffered through the weakness of your forebears. Rufus, Stephen, Richard – that brave man who deserted his country for a dream of glory in the Holy Land – disastrous and devilish John, and lastly – oh, yes, we know you do not like this – Henry, the father whom you loved, and who all but destroyed his country because he was so busy loving his family and pleasing an extravagant wife, who was always begging for luxury and draining away the life blood of the nation’s trade. You know this, Edward. It is for you, who are one of us, to save England.’

‘I will,’ he murmured. ‘God help me, I will.’

He had of late realised his great responsibilities. After the affair of the poisoned dagger, it occurred to him that he did wrong to place himself in danger. His father was ageing and though he, Edward, had two sons in the nursery, John and Henry were but babies. His strength had been impaired; he needed the temperate climate of his own country. He had seen that there was no hope of conquering the Saracen. Others before him had failed in that endeavour. Even the great Coeur de Lion had not succeeded in capturing Jerusalem.

When an opportunity had arisen to come to terms with the great Sultan Bibars he had taken it. A truce … it was all he had achieved but that could mean a few years’ respite. All that blood, all that danger to achieve that! His arm was painful; it had affected his health, he believed. He ought to go home, for who knew what the barons would be plotting? They were always suspicious of his father and they hated his mother, whose extravagance Edward knew in his heart should be curbed. A nation’s wealth should not be spent on banquets and fine jewels, indulging an extravagant wife and bestowing gifts and pensions on her impecunious relations. Much as he loved his father he could see clearly his shortcomings as a king.

So he had left the Holy Land and in Sicily the heart-rending news was brought to him. First the death of his eldest son John. Poor Eleanor had been stricken with grief. She had asked herself whether she had been wrong to go and leave her children, and could not stop contemplating what a bitter choice a wife had to make when it was a question of leaving her children to be with her husband.

There had followed the news of his father’s death. That had prostrated him indeed. He shut himself away from everyone, even Eleanor, and brooded on the loss of the kind parent who had loved him so dearly. He remembered how in the days of his childhood they had played together; when he had been ill – and oddly enough he had not been a strong child – the King with the Queen had been at his bedside. Matters of state could be neglected, important ministers made to wait in order that a sick child might be comforted. Never to see his father again! Never to talk with him! Never to stroll arm in arm with him in the palace gardens! Never to find comfort in that bond between them which only death had been able to break.

The Sicilians had marvelled at him. He had such a short time earlier heard of the death of his eldest son but it had not affected him as deeply as the death of his father.

‘The loss of children can be repaired by the same God that gave them,’ he had said. ‘But when a man has lost a good father it is not in the course of nature for God to send him another.’

And he knew of course that he must go home. He must comfort his sorrowing mother, for he guessed how she would take this bereavement. The death of his father had aged him, sobered him, set him looking back and thinking of the death of his great-grandfather, Henry II, who would be judged one of England’s most worthy kings and he thought of how he had died, deserted by his sons, sadly aware of it, and hated by his wife – in fact a lonely old man, friendless, and with few to wait at his bedside and offer him comfort. Yet he was a king who had done much for England. And that other Henry, Edward’s beloved father, who had brought the crown into danger and indeed had come near to losing it through men such as Simon de Montfort, had died mourned and regretted to such an extent that his children and his wife would be prostrate with grief and would keep his memory green for ever. Ironic, thought Edward, and wondered what his own fate would be. But it was not a matter of choice. Why should not a man be a good king and a good father? He knew that his Eleanor would stand beside him; she would not attempt to rule him as his mother had ruled his father. He loved his mother dearly but that did not mean to say that he did not realise her faults. Now that he was King he would have to curb her extravagance. He was not going to run into trouble with the barons as his father had done.

In a sudden rush of affection he took his wife’s hand and pressed it as they stood there on the boat deck watching the white cliffs come closer.

From the moment of his father’s death he had become the King, but he had not after all hastened home. He had better work to do on the Continent. This was not a time to indulge his grief but to consolidate his position. He visited the all-important Pope to ensure good relations with Rome; then he and Eleanor stayed awhile with her family in Castile, and then they came to Paris where he was entertained by the French King, Philip III, and Philip’s mother who was Edward’s Aunt Marguerite; he had even met the Count of Flanders at Montreuil and settled a dispute which had stopped the export of English wool to Flanders.

He had made good use of his time and behaved, he believed, in a kingly manner by setting matters of state before his inclinations.

Now the Queen had turned to him and she said, ‘Soon we must embark.’

‘It is a new life beginning for us,’ he replied. ‘When we step onto English soil again it will be as King and Queen.’

‘I wonder if the children will be there. Oh, Edward, our own babies and we may not recognise them.’

There were tears in her eyes and he knew that she was thinking of Baby Joanna. He said gently, ‘You must not fret. It is not for long. She will come back to us.’

‘I should never have begged you to allow it,’ she said.

‘Think of your mother’s delight.’

‘I try to. Oh I must not be selfish. I have my two darlings waiting for me. It should have been three.’

‘You must not brood on that. Children die. But they can be replaced. We’ll have more. I promise you a round dozen.’

‘I pray to God that it may be so. But I cannot forget Joanna.’

It was natural that her mother should have doted on the child. Joanna had been bright and lively from her very youngest days. It was strange how people were particularly drawn to their namesakes. So it had been with Eleanor’s mother. She had adored the baby from the moment she had seen her. She had carried her off to her own apartments and would not relinquish her to her nurses or to her mother; and when it had been time for Edward and Eleanor to leave the Castilian Court, she had become so desolate declaring that when they had gone, taking the baby with them, she would have nothing to live for. What could a loving daughter do? Poor Eleanor, her tender heart had been deeply touched by her mother’s lonely state. ‘We owe her something,’ she had said to Edward. ‘Your father made her waste her youth when he was pretending he would marry her. And afterwards he jilted her for the sake of your mother, and no one asked for her hand until my father came along. I was the only child there was time for then, and I am married and gone far away from her.’

Edward understood. Poor Eleanor, she was called upon once more to make one of those decisions which fall to people such as she was. A selfish woman would have had no difficulty. She would simply have done what she wanted. But Eleanor must always do what was right for others before she considered herself.

So they had left Baby Joanna with Eleanor’s mother who seized the child hungrily and had all but hidden her away lest her parents should change their minds.

And now here they were – home in England, Baby Joanna left behind in Castile.

But on the shore the children whom they had left in England were waiting for them.

There was a shout of joy as the King stepped ashore, quickly followed by his Queen.

‘Long live the King.’ The loyal cries went up.

Edward stood for a moment, his wife beside him, listening to their cheers.

Then he saw his mother, erect, her outstanding beauty scarcely impaired at all by the years and her grief. She was holding two children by the hand and the Queen’s eyes went immediately to them. She gave a little cry and held out her arms.

They were running to her – Princess Eleanor, the daughter who had been named after her, and the little boy, Prince Henry, pale and breathless.

‘My darlings.’ The Queen had knelt down, her arms about them, tears in her eyes.

‘My lady,’ cried the Princess, ‘you are home at last. It is years and years ago that you went away …’

She could only hold them to her.

‘Henry, my darling …’ Oh God, she thought. How pale he is! He is too small, too frail …

Then Edward had picked up his son. He set him on his shoulder. He held his daughter close to him and stood there.

A touching sight. This great king who towered above his subjects, dismissing ceremony, in that profound emotion engendered by his reunion with his family.

The Queen – more beautiful than they remembered – standing there beside him. A happy omen. A king come home. Old Henry was gone; his extravagant wife was relegated to the background. King Edward had come into his own.

‘Long live the King.’

Everyone who witnessed that affecting scene was sure that it was a good augury for England.

Edward was proud as he rode up the steep hill to the castle keep. The road was lined with cheering subjects who were determined to let him know how pleased they were that he had returned, and in their cheers was the hope that in him they had a strong king who would set right all that had gone wrong during the mismanagement of the previous reigns.

Dover had been aptly named by the early Britons Dvfyrrha, meaning the steep place. And what an inspiring sight it was to look down on that magnificent harbour and out to sea where he knew that on fine days the coast of France could be seen. Part of the castle was the work of the Romans and beside it was the ancient Pharos to remind people of their occupation. The castle was three hundred feet above sea level – perfectly placed for defence. No wonder it was called the Key to England.

Here his ancestors had lived. The Conqueror had taken possession of it immediately after the Battle of Hastings and Edward’s great-grandfather, Henry II, had rebuilt the keep. Oh yes, it was undoubtedly a great moment when he passed into the castle.

The Queen was beside him but she had eyes only for her children, and was longing to discuss the state of Henry’s health with her mother-in-law.

There was a chill in the castle in spite of the fact that it was August. She, who had spent so long in warmer climates, noticed it, and her first reaction was to wonder whether Henry suffered from this cold.

In their apartments Edward turned to her.

‘Home at last, my love,’ he said. ‘I trust it will be long before we have to go on our travels again.’

She nodded. A forlorn hope. When had any King of England been allowed to live peacefully in England?

The Queen Mother came to them. Instinctively the Queen knew that her mother-in-law was eager to assert her power and to let them know that she was as important now as she had been when her husband was alive.

‘What joy it is to have you home,’ she cried. ‘The loyalty of the people was heart-warming.’

Edward looked at his mother a little cynically. There had been no cheers for her and their absence had been rather noticeable at times.

‘They are so happy to have you home and so they should be.’ Her eyes glistened. She was proud of having produced such a kingly son. ‘Why, Edward,’ she went on, ‘had I not seen you before, I should have known that you were the King. You stand out among all men.’

His wife nodded in agreement.

‘We must celebrate your return,’ went on the Queen Mother. ‘There must be a banquet in Westminster and then we shall have to prepare for the coronation.’

‘We will dispense with the banquet, my lady,’ said the King. ‘The coronation will be costly enough.’

‘Dear Edward, you must not forget you are now the King. You must act in a kingly fashion.’

‘That I intend to do. That is why I do not propose to squander the exchequer.’

The Queen Mother laughed aloud. ‘Your father would have given a most splendid feast,’ she said reproachfully.

‘I have no doubt. But I must go my own way. The coronation will be grand. The people expect that, and will be ready to pay for it. But there is no need to involve them in more expense than is necessary.’

The Queen Mother was sober. ‘Why, my son, what has happened to you during your travels? Your father …’

‘It distresses me to hear his name mentioned,’ said Edward. ‘I was never so unhappy as when I heard the news, but I tell you this, my lady: there will be no wasting of money on feasts. We shall concentrate at once on the coronation.’

His wife was proud of him. He was indeed kingly. He could even subdue his formidable mother. The Queen Mother lifted her shoulders helplessly.

‘The London merchants are rich. The Jews still flourish. They could easily be taxed …’

‘New taxes so early in a reign could tend to make a king very unpopular,’ said Edward. ‘I want to keep the people with me.’

He bowed to his wife and his mother and left the chamber.

The Queen Mother smiled lightly at the Queen.

‘He is anxious to show us he is the King,’ was her comment.

The Queen, who could be bold where her loved ones and her duty were concerned, retorted, ‘He is the King, Madam, and determined to rule well.’

‘His father never denied me anything. He always saw from my point of view.’

‘Edward will see from his own point of view.’

‘Of course he has been away so long. Perhaps it will be different when he has grown used to us all again.’

The Queen was silent for a few moments and then she said, ‘I am concerned about Henry.’

The Queen Mother’s face was immediately grave.

‘He is not strong,’ she admitted.

‘I was frightened when I saw him. I thought of little John …’

‘I have watched him constantly. I have seen that he eats what he should. My dear daughter, when he has been ill I have been at his bedside night and day.’

The Queen took the Queen Mother’s hand and pressed it warmly. ‘I know well how much you love him.’

‘The dear, dear child. He has been the centre of my life since the King went.’

‘I know it. But he is too thin. Too frail. I could have wept when I saw him.’

‘I feared it. The journey to Dover tired him.’

‘Perhaps he should not have made it.’

‘I feared to leave him behind. I do not think it is good for him to be aware of his weakness. It worries him and he tries to keep up with others.’

‘Was it so with little John?’

The Queen Mother nodded.

‘Oh, I could not bear it if …’

The Queen Mother said, ‘We must do everything that we can without calling attention to his weakness. I have had wax images of him burned at the shrines.’

‘And no good came of it?’ asked the Queen.

‘Sometimes he seemed to be stronger for a few days and then he was ill again.’

‘Perhaps we should hire some poor widows to perform vigils for his health.’

‘I fear that would call attention to his state.’

The Queen nodded. And the Queen Mother, all softness because the welfare of the family was in question, said gently, ‘Let us hope that now his mother is home he will grow out of his weakness. You know I had my anxious moments with Edward. I remember a time when we went to Beaulieu Abbey for the dedication of a church. He had a cough which worried me and during the ceremony he developed a fever. I insisted on keeping him at the Abbey and staying to nurse him. Oh what a pother there was! A woman sleeping in the Abbey! It was unheard of. It was offending the laws of God they said. I was ready to set aside the laws of God for my son I tell you. And stay I did and nurse him I did. I tell you this, my daughter, because you have only to look at Edward today. Can you ever believe that he was anything but a healthy child?’

‘You comfort me,’ said the Queen.

‘Let us hope that Henry will grow out of his delicacy as his father grew out of his.’

‘I intend to do everything possible to bring that about.’

‘You can depend on me to stand beside you.’

The Queen felt drawn towards her mother-in-law. It was true that the latter was extravagant and she understood through Edward that she had been responsible for much of King Henry’s unpopularity; but she was a woman whose unswerving loyalty to her family never wavered.

Whatever else she was, Eleanor of Provence gave the utmost devotion to her family.

The royal party must not linger at Dover. They must make their way to London or the Londoners would be displeased. As Edward remarked to the Queen, he could not afford to be unpopular in the capital. He had seen what that had done to his parents. There was a little tightening of his lips and the Queen was proud and pleased that he was determined not to allow his mother to rule him. She had been a little afraid that this might be the case, for she had seen the power of that determined woman and she knew full well that a strong bond of affection existed between them. But no, Edward was not going to forget he was the King and he would be the sole ruler of his country.

It was a joyful procession all along the route. Edward knew he must not pass too hurriedly. All his loyal subjects wished to see him and a great deal depended on first impressions. He must show them all – even the humblest – that he had their welfare at heart. At this time their loyalty was his and he must keep it so; he must remember that though he was the undoubted son and heir of the late King, the best of all claims to the throne came through the will of the people. That was a lesson he had learned through his father, whose example had taught him how a king should not behave towards his subjects. It seemed strange to him that loving his parents as he did he could see their faults so clearly.

It was a good plan to have the children riding with them. There was nothing that appealed to humble people like children. He could see too that they liked the Queen. It was to her advantage that they had so disliked the previous one that they were inclined to think any successor was preferable; but there was something about Eleanor’s gentle demeanour and her obvious care for her children which entirely won their hearts.

The scene was set fair. He was sure of it. And it was for them to keep it thus.

Everywhere there were cheers and flowers strewn in their paths.

‘Long live the King! Long live the Queen.’ It was music in his ears.

He could not suppress a sly smile when his mother passed in the procession and an almost sullen silence fell on the crowd. Dear lady, he thought indulgently, she could never see that the people blamed her for everything that had gone wrong because she would bring her poor relations into the country. She could so easily have won their approval. But she simply had not bothered to do so. He loved her tenderly. He remembered her maternal care for him and her passionate devotion to her family; yet at the same time his reason had always told him that she had brought her unpopularity on herself. He remembered that time when the Londoners had pelted the barge, in which she was trying to escape, with refuse and heavy stones in the hope of drowning her. None of the family had ever forgiven the Londoners for that; and yet he understood their reasons. Beloved mother, she was so clever in so many ways, but she could never understand that kings and queens must have the approval of their subjects if they are going to stay safe on the throne.

They halted at the Castle of Tunbridge where Gilbert de Clare, called the Red on account of the colour of his hair, was waiting to receive the royal party and declare his fealty to the King.

Edward welcomed this, for Gilbert the Red was a good man to have on his side. A forthright man, Gilbert had never been afraid to make his opinions known, and therefore to be welcomed by him added to that sense of security which the greetings of the people had given Edward.

The Queen Mother was less pleased. She had thought they should not have stayed at Tonbridge. ‘There is a man who cannot be trusted,’ she had said to Edward. ‘He was not a good friend to your father. Now is the time to show men like Gilbert de Clare that it will go ill with them if they are disloyal to their King.’

‘My lady mother,’ said Edward courteously, ‘I know this man’s mind. He will be on whatever side he wishes and nothing would change that. If he dislikes my deeds he will be against me as he was against my father. He has now sworn fealty to me, which means that he is ready to support me.’

‘Providing he gets his way.’

‘’Tis not his way or my way, it is a matter of how the country is governed.’

‘And you will let him have a say in that and tell you what to do?’

‘Certainly he and the other barons must have a say. That is the way the people wish it to be. But rest assured, dear lady, that it shall be my will that is done – though it may be I have to persuade my subjects to accept it.’

‘They should obey unquestioningly.’

‘That is something they have never done. A king cannot prevent the humblest peasant from questioning if only in his mind.’

‘Peasants, dear son, do not possess minds.’

‘Ah, dear mother, let us not make the mistake of underestimating the people. We have seen what disastrous effects that can have.’

‘Your father never considered the people.’

‘There is truth in that and let us face it – he came near to losing his crown.’

‘Oh, how can you speak of your father thus!’

He put his arm about her. ‘We loved him dearly,’ he said, ‘but our love did not prevent the disasters of civil war. I am determined that that shall never happen in my reign. This is as strong an arm as ever wielded a sword, dear mother, but my heart and my brain will tell me when it must sheath that sword.’

The Queen Mother looked at her son with trepidation. She felt that her rule was coming to an end.

There was feasting fitting for the occasion in the great hall at Tonbridge. Gilbert de Clare sat beside the King and expressed his pleasure in his return. This was an honest expression of his feelings, for Gilbert was not a man for pretence. Like all sensible men, he wanted to see the country at peace with itself, for only then could prosperity come. He was three or four years younger than Edward and had become the most powerful of the barons. There had been a time when he had supported Simon de Montfort against the royal party, but he was a man who would not hesitate to change sides.

He would always prefer to support the King. Moreover there was a family connection. Twenty years before when the King’s half-brothers and sisters had invaded the country to see what advantages they could get, Henry had decided that he would be a good husband for his kinswoman, Alice of Angoulême. Gilbert had been not quite ten years old at the time and had had no say in the matter. The marriage had been quite unsatisfactory.

Now as they drank wine together and listened to the minstrels who sang for the pleasure of the company Gilbert contemplated the happiness of the King and his Queen and his eyes grew a little wistful – a fact which was not lost on the King.

‘I trust we shall now enjoy a period of peace,’ said Gilbert. ‘The barons are hopeful.’

‘I shall do my best to see that their hopes are fulfilled, for I believe they want the prosperity of the country as much as I do myself.’

‘It is what the barons have always wished for, my lord.’

A reminder of Gilbert’s honesty. He was not going to pretend to please the King and pander to some mistaken notion that the dead must be praised and that Henry was a saint. Henry had brought his troubles on himself and as he was King those were the country’s troubles. Gilbert implied that the barons would be behind the new King while the new King acted wisely and for the good of his country.

As that was exactly what Edward intended to do he did not resent Gilbert’s attitude.

‘This is indeed a happy augury,’ went on Gilbert. ‘You have your crusade behind you. The people like a crusader king as long as his crusade is in the past and they cannot be taxed to pay for it while their king goes off and leaves his country in hands other than his own. So they like a crusader king who has proved himself in advance to be a great warrior and if that king has a loving wife and a family it pleases them. That is a great boon to a man.’

‘Forgive me, my friend,’ said the King, ‘but do I sense that you are not happy on that score?’

‘I will tell you this, my lord: if I could rid myself of Alice and take another wife, gladly would I do so. She comes from an overbearing family. Your grandmother was a wild woman, sire, and when she was Queen of England had power even over King John for long after their marriage, but when she married Hugh de Lusignan she bred a race of harpies.’

Edward smiled faintly. Gilbert’s wife, Alice of Angoulême, was the niece of Alice of Lusignan who was Henry III’s half-sister.

‘You speak of my family, sir.’

‘And my own since I married into it. But truth is truth, and you, my lord, will be the first to recognise it as such.’

‘So you would divorce your wife and the Pope is proving intransigent, I’ll swear.’

‘You have guessed it. How easy it is to be trapped into marriage. I was a boy of ten. What can a boy of that age do but obey the wishes of his elders, and there he is saddled with a wife for the rest of his life.’

Edward laughed. His wife had been chosen for him, and yet had he had a chance to choose from the whole world he would have picked her. He was lucky. He must be sympathetic with poor Gilbert.

‘Best of good fortune,’ he said, ‘and when you are free, Gilbert, we’ll find a good wife for you.’

‘With my lord’s permission I will find my own,’ was the reply.

It was a very pleasant sojourn at Tonbridge. Gilbert, Earl of Gloucester, and the most powerful man in the country under the King, was with him.

Edward expressed his gratitude for the hospitality which had been given him; he implied his pleasure in the Earl’s support, while he was determined to keep a watch lest it should be diverted.

After Tonbridge, Reigate, where John de Warenne was waiting to receive the party.

Grandson of the great William Marshal and therefore belonging to one of the richest families in the country, as a boy John de Warenne had been one of the marriage bargains of the day; and Henry III had arranged a marriage for him with his half-sister, Alice de Lusignan, who was the aunt of Gilbert Clare’s wife. To the King it had seemed an ideal arrangement for, family man that he was, he was eager to setttle his impecunious relations as comfortably as he could. Edward had never had any reason to doubt the loyalty of this man who was so close to him through his family ties.

It was a very pleasant stay therefore at Reigate, marred only by the increasing fears of the Queen for young Henry.

‘It breaks my heart to see how he tries to hide his weakness,’ she told Edward when, after the long day’s meeting and festivities, they were alone together. ‘I know the child is far from well. He is so easily fatigued. Your mother said that little John was the same.’

‘Henry is young yet, my love. He will grow out of it.’

‘But we lost little John.’

‘We were not here then.’

‘Your mother would stand over him like a watch dog. She is devoted to the children, however …’ The Queen stopped short, but Edward laid a hand gently on her shoulder and smiled at her.

‘I think we understand my mother,’ he said. ‘There was never one more devoted to her family. Being clever and beautiful and delighting my father she has grown used to having her own way. She will unlearn …’

But the Queen was uneasy and she had passed on that anxiety to Edward. Their daughter Eleanor was in fine good health. So had Joanna been when they left her in Castile; and Joanna could have been said to have made a rather difficult entry into the world. Acre was not the most temperate place to make one’s appearance and there had been a considerable lack of comfort. Yet she had bloomed from the start. The other little one had died, but that may have been due to the hardships her mother had suffered before her birth. No, they could get healthy children. Eleanor was unduly disturbed because of John’s death and her conscience continued to trouble her, because she had been torn between leaving her children and her husband.

The next day the Queen continued downcast, although she tried to hide her feelings for she knew how her fears disturbed her husband.

But the King was aware of this, and he took her into the chapel at Reigate and summoning the priest told him of the Queen’s anxiety.

‘There is a shrine close by, I believe,’ said the King. ‘Let a wax image be made of my son and there burned in oil before the image of the saint. It may be that he will petition God and the Holy Virgin for his safety.’

The priest bowed and said it should be done, for it was a much practised custom to burn in oil a wax figure representing someone who needed special intercession with Heaven.

‘Now,’ said Edward firmly, ‘it is in the hands of the saints and do you doubt, my love, that they will turn deaf ears to the prayers of a mother as loving as yourself.’

He was so good to her, said the Queen. And she could almost believe that she had been foolishly concerned, but her little Henry was such a dear child and she did so long to see him as full of health as his sister was.

‘That will come, I promise you,’ said Edward.

And soon after they left Reigate for London.