The Hammer of the Scots

Chapter III THE WELSH PRINCE AND THE DEMOISELLE

Trouble, as might have been expected, came from the Welsh border.

Gilbert of Gloucester came riding in all haste to the King at Westminster to tell him the news. The King received Gilbert in one of the lavishly painted chambers in the palace which his father had restored.

Edward knew at once that the news was bad.

‘Llewellyn?’ he said even before Gilbert had begun.

‘It was certain to happen, my lord. The Marcher Barons have been reporting trouble there. It seems that the Welsh have discovered some prophecy of Merlin’s which says that a man named Llewellyn shall reign not only over Wales but over England as well.’

The King turned a shade paler. He was more afraid of prophecies than armies for he knew how deeply the people could be affected by them.

‘And this is the chosen Llewellyn are they saying?’

‘My lord, that is so.’

‘By God I will show this Llewellyn that he shall never be King of England while the true King lives.’

‘I thought you would say that, my lord.’

‘How dare he? What right has he? Is he descended from the Conqueror?’

‘He intends to ally himself with the Conqueror’s line, my lord.’

‘It is deeds not intentions he will need if he is to make fact of his dreams. How, pray, does he think he will become a member of our family?’

‘Through his wife.’

‘His wife! He is unmarried.’

‘But intends to marry ere long. You will remember that he was at one time betrothed to Eleanor de Montfort, she whom they call the Demoiselle.’

‘Her father agreed to the betrothal when he was raising the Welsh to fight against my father.’

Gilbert nodded. ‘It is said that the pair became enamoured of each other then. It must be nearly ten years ago and the Demoiselle was a very young girl at that time, but her youth did not prevent her falling deeply in love.’

Edward shrugged his shoulders.

‘My lord,’ said Gilbert, ‘this matter is not lightly to be dismissed. Forget not that the Demoiselle is royal through her mother – your father’s sister. She is your cousin and if he marries her, Llewellyn will feel that he is not without a claim to the English throne.’

‘Then he must be mad.’

‘He is mad with this dream of glory. He says he is going to make Merlin’s prophecy come true.’

‘And how will he do that?’

‘He will try to win England by conquest.’

‘And you think I shall idly stand by and let him?’

‘By God and all His angels, no. You will fight. You will show him who is master here. Poor Llewellyn, I could feel it in my heart to be sorry for him when I think of what you will do to him when he ventures out from the shelter of his Welsh mountains. But he intends to establish his link with the throne through marriage with the Demoiselle.’

‘Who is in exile with her mother and her evil brothers.’

‘This is the news, my lord. He has sent for the Demoiselle. They are to be married when she arrives in Wales.’

‘From France?’

‘He has sent a ship for her. She will soon be on her way. Then when he is married to her, he will do more than harry the Marcher country. The Welsh are with him to a man – and maybe others. Since it was put about that Merlin prophesied that a Llewellyn should be King of England people begin to believe it may be so.’

Edward’s eyes were narrowed. He stood for a few seconds, long legs apart, staring into the distance. Then he smiled slowly.

‘You say the Demoiselle is to come out of exile to marry him, eh?’

‘That is so, my lord.’

‘Do you think she will ever reach him? I do not. The first thing we do, Gilbert, is to send out ships to intercept her. We are going to make sure that Llewellyn does not get his bride.’

In a small château in the town of Melun which stands on the river Seine, Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, lay dying. Beside her sat her daughter – a beautiful young woman of some twenty-three years – who was known even in her family as Demoiselle.

The dying Countess was easier in her mind since the message had come to her a few days earlier, for she had been deeply concerned as to what would happen to her daughter if she should die. Now there was a chance that she would be happy. Llewellyn, the Prince of Wales, wanted to marry her. He had, explained the message, thought of her constantly through the years. He had never married because of his attachment to her and because he considered they were betrothed. What he longed for more than anything was for her to be his bride.

Any day now the news of the ship’s arrival would come. The Countess knew that her daughter would not leave her while she lived, but was fully aware that there were not too many days left to her.

She was ready to go. Hers had been a stormy life, and there had been plenty of opportunity to contemplate the past as she lay there on her sickbed. It was strange how well she remembered the days of her youth, and how much more vivid they seemed than what was happening around her now!

But when she was gone her son Almeric would take his sister to Wales, and there her dear Demoiselle would become the wife of a man who loved her and would cherish her.

So many terrible things had happened to her family that she feared the worst. Perhaps she should have expected violent happenings when she married the great Simon de Montfort. But she would never regret that. How often had she said to herself, looking back on all the tragedies which had followed that reckless marriage: And I would do it all over again.

Simon de Montfort was a name which would be remembered with respect for ever. A strange man, a good man, a man of ideals, he had had her support even though he had stood against her own brother, King Henry. Poor Henry, she had loved him too. He had always been so kind, so eager for them all to love him, but he had ruled badly; his extravagance and that of his Queen had almost brought back the dreadful days of King John; and Simon had had to do what he did even though he believed that civil war was one of the greatest disasters which could befall a country; and when a woman’s husband was fighting against her brother that was indeed a tragedy. She recalled that time when her brother Henry and her nephew Edward had been brought to Kenilworth as her husband’s prisoners and put in her care. She had treated them with respect; she had wanted to shake her brother and say: ‘Why cannot you see what you are doing? Simon is right.’ Simon would have ruled wisely. It was Simon who had inaugurated the first parliament. Simon wanted a peaceful prosperous country. Henry might say he wanted this too and so he did, but Henry also wanted money … money and lands so that he could satisfy the demands of his rapacious wife. Yet she had loved them both – Henry, her brother, Eleanor of Provence, her sister-in-law. They had ruled badly; they had been her husband’s deadly enemies; yet she had loved them all.

What a difficult problem life set, with war in the country and war in the family! Violence had bred violence. What they did to her husband and her son Henry at Evesham would haunt her for as long as she lived. She had nightmares about Evesham. That beloved body to be so treated! It was no wonder that her sons Guy and Simon had done what they did. They had revered their father. They had wanted revenge.

And it had ended thus with the proud de Montforts in exile. Guy, a fugitive wanted for the murder of Henry of Cornwall which he with his brother Simon had committed in a church at Viterbo. It was a murder which had shocked the world because Henry of Cornwall had been killed while in prayer before an altar, and after he had been stabbed to death his body had been obscenely treated as Simon de Montfort’s had after Evesham. It was meant to be a grand revenge for what had happened to their father. Poor Guy! Poor Simon! They had chosen the wrong victim in one noted for his bravery and goodness; they should never have mutilated his dead body, and now young Simon was dead but none would ever forget the murder at Viterbo and she often wondered about what would happen to Guy in the end.

So many promising children and they had come to this! She called to her daughter and took pleasure in looking at her. She was tall, graceful, a Plantagenet. Llewellyn would surely be pleased with his bride.

‘My child,’ she said, ‘it will not be long now.’

The Demoiselle bent over her mother and asked if she would take a cooling beverage.

‘I am sinking fast, daughter,’ she said. ‘Nay, do not grieve. This is the end of my life – and it has been a rich one – but it is the beginning of yours. You will go happily to Llewellyn.’

‘Yes, Mother, I shall go happily to him.’

‘It was long ago when you saw him.’

‘Yes, but we both knew then … I am sure he has not changed and I know that I have not.’

‘Be happy, my child. When I was very young and scarcely out of the nursery they married me to an old man. When he died I thought I should never marry again. There was talk of going into a convent. Then your father came. To marry in love is the best thing that can happen to a woman.’

‘You and my father faced terrible odds.’

The dying woman smiled. ‘A mésalliance. A king’s daughter and an adventurer, they said. Perhaps they are the best sort of marriages because the people who make them must want desperately to do so to defy everyone about them.’

‘You and my father wanted to marry very much, I know.’

‘Ah yes. What days they were! The excitement … the intrigue! I suppose I was one to flourish on intrigue. Now I look for peace. That is something we all come to. I want only to know that you are settled and on your way to Wales. Then I could die happy.’

‘I should never leave you, dear Mother.’

‘Bless you, but I shall not detain you long. When the ship comes for you you must go. Almeric shall take you. I have much to say to Almeric.’

‘Shall I send him to you, Mother?’

‘Yes, my child. Tell him to come.’

Almeric de Montfort sat by his mother’s bedside and asked himself how long she could live, and wondered what future there was for him and his sister in Wales.

He loved his mother; he had revered his father. It was a source of anger that the great man of his times – as he believed his father to have been – should have died ignobly. It was not so much that he had been killed in battle. That was an honourable way for a man to die. But what they had done to his body afterwards … How dared they! So to humiliate the remains of the great Simon de Montfort! And then they wondered why his brothers had done the same to Henry of Cornwall.

‘Are you there, Almeric, my son?’ asked the dying Countess.

‘I am here, Mother.’

‘You must leave for Wales as soon as the ship comes.’

‘We shall not leave you, Mother.’

‘’Twould be better for you to leave without delay.’

‘Do not fret about the matter. Rest assured all will be well.’

‘Take care of your sister.’

‘Trust me, dear Mother, to do that.’

She closed her eyes as though in relief.

She was right. They should leave as soon as the ship came. Messengers could be arriving at any moment to tell them they should set out. His sister would never agree to leave her mother though – nor would he.

Ever since Evesham the family fortunes had been in decline. Oh how foolish of Guy and Simon to commit a murder which shocked the world! Guy had always been violent and he had hated his cousin Edward; he used to say Edward had everything in his favour. Perhaps in those days in the royal schoolroom they had all been a little envious of Edward. The Golden Boy, the King’s son, the heir to the throne. The one who gave himself airs and tried to rule them all – taller than any of them, the one who was selected for attention and homage even in those days. Guy had hated him and tried to turn them all against him. Henry of Cornwall had been one of those boys – the eldest – and he had been Edward’s staunch ally. Henry the noble boy, who led Edward along the path of virtue. Edward the future King, Henry the saint. It was small wonder that they had made Henry their victim. Almeric could imagine the vicious joy with which Guy had mutilated Henry’s body.

Oh it was a foolish thing to have done. It had set the whole world against them. It had brought disrepute on the great de Montfort name. Now when people mentioned it they spoke of the murder rather than the great good which their father Simon de Montfort had brought to England.

Almeric would never forget that time when he had been accused with his brothers of the murder. This was a great trial to him for not only had he been educated in the Church but he was innocent of the crime. It was easy for him to be arrested as he had been working in the university of Padua at the time. Thank God he had been able to prove that he had been nowhere near Viterbo when the murder had been committed and had in fact been desperately ill with a fever.

Now he had been called to his mother’s bedside and it occurred to him that if this marriage into Wales could be brought about and Llewellyn became King of England, the fortunes of the de Montforts would be reversed. His sister Queen of England! Proud Edward deposed! What a glorious prospect. And Merlin had prophesied that a Llewellyn should be a King of England. If it were this Llewellyn …

His mother’s breathing was becoming more difficult. He wondered if he should call the priest.

His sister came in and when she looked at the bed her beautiful eyes were sorrowful.

She knelt by the bed, and her mother sensing her presence stretched out a hand.

Eleanor took it.

‘I am here, Mother,’ she said.

‘Go … and be happy,’ said the Countess. ‘Almeric …’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Take care of your sister. Promise me. Take her to her bridegroom. Start afresh … Do not grieve.’

She closed her eyes, smiling. Perhaps, thought the young Eleanor, she was thinking of her own marriage; those days when she, the bold adventurous princess, widow of an old man, had met and loved the handsome Simon de Montfort – the man who was to make his mark on history – the one whom they called the adventurer.

They had adventured together and the adventure was coming to an end. She was dying and Simon de Montfort had met his end long ago on the battlefield of Evesham.

A gentle reminiscent smile was on the lips of the Countess de Montfort as she slipped away from this life.

There was no reason why they should delay, said Almeric when news came that Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, had sent two ships to escort his bride to her new home.

The Countess was buried in the nunnery of Montargis in accordance with her wishes and after this had been done the young Demoiselle with her brother as escort made her way to the coast where the ships were waiting to take them to Wales.

Those ships were good to look on. Llewellyn had clearly sent of his best and they were equipped with everything for his bride’s comfort. He had sent a company of knights and men-at-arms to protect her should the need arise.

And so they set sail. As the coast of France faded from sight the crew grew apprehensive. It was to be hoped that news of the journey might not have reached English ears but this seemed unlikely as there were always spies to betray such news and the discovery of Merlin’s prophecy had naturally been blazoned throughout the country. It was good from the Welsh point of view for the English to know this. There was nothing like a prophecy of this nature to strike terror into the hearts of enemies. If the English believed that supernatural powers were working against them they were halfway to defeat.

It would be a long journey, for the party dared not land in England or be seen by the English ships. Therefore the passage through the English Channel would be hazardous indeed.

Fears increased as they caught sight of the coast of England. The navigator dreaded a strong wind which might blow them close to the land and worst of all force them to take shelter. Great was their elation when they saw that the end of the land was in sight. Once they had rounded the tip known as Land’s End they could sail straight up to Wales.

Alas, as they changed course preparing to sail northwards, four merchant vessels were seen bearing down upon them.

The two Welsh ships had no chance against them.

Proudly the English captain escorted his captives back to Bristol and immediately sent a message to the King that his mission had been successfully accomplished.

Llewellyn ab Gruffyd Prince of Wales was mad with rage when he heard that his bride had been captured by the English.

What of this fine prophecy! Was he always to be beaten by the English? He, Llewellyn ab Gruffyd, the elect – if Merlin’s prophecy did indeed point to him – to be failed once more by the English and just as his Demoiselle was to be brought to him!

He had dreamed of her for many years. He would marry no other. He would never forget her – a beautiful child with eyes that had shone with admiration for him when she had heard that she was to be his wife. That had been years ago when her father Simon de Montfort had been a great power in England and it had appeared that he would depose the King. If only the tide had not turned against Simon, the Demoiselle would long since have been his wife.

The disaster had been due to Edward who had escaped from captivity and beaten the de Montfort army – Edward Longshanks, who looked like a conqueror and was one.

Edward had inspired the faith which leaders demanded – the sort of faith which a prophecy by Merlin could produce. Edward had the looks, the manners, the strength of a king. Only the supernatural could come against him. And Merlin had prophesied …

Llewellyn had never believed that Edward could outwit him and take his bride from him, and it had shaken him to realise that the first move in the attempt to make Merlin’s prophecy come true had failed.

Life had not been easy for him. When had it ever been for a Prince of Wales? If he was not harried by the English on his borders it was trouble in his own family.

In the first place it had been bad luck to be born the second son of Gruffydd ab Llewellyn; not that he had not overcome that difficulty for Owain, his elder brother, was now in safe custody, his prisoner.

But family conflict was not good and he would have preferred to have had loyal brothers – providing of course he had been the eldest. A series of adventures had brought him to his present position.

Wales was a constant anxiety to England but no more so than England was to Wales. The Celtic Welsh were different from the English. That mixed race, made up of some of the greatest warriors in the world, like the adventuring Vikings, and with the blood of the Angles, Saxons and Romans in their veins, were born to be rulers and conquerors. The Welsh like the Celts of the North and those who lived in the extreme south-west corner of England were of a different breed. They liked to sing and play the lute or harp, for music meant a great deal to them; they were poetic and they had vivid imaginations which bred superstition in them. They were full of fancies; and it had seemed that they were no match for that hybrid race which now called itself the English.

To sally forth from the mountains and make war on the English could be disastrous. Llewellyn thanked God for the mountains. They had saved his country from being overrun by the invading English many a time.

William the Conqueror had known he could conquer the Welsh but even he could not conquer their mountains. He it was who had established the Marcher Barons – great Normans headed by lords like the FitzOsborns and Montgomeries. For two hundred years the Marcher Barons had ruled that no man’s land.

Now there was Merlin’s prophecy. Llewellyn believed that he must be the chosen one. He did wonder why the Llewellyn in the prophecy had not been his grandfather, a mighty warrior to whom many had looked for the deliverance of Wales from the English persecution. He had been known as Llewellyn the Great because it was said he was the greatest ruler Wales had known in all her history up to that time.

There must be a greater … Merlin’s chosen.

Looking back it seemed there had been too much fighting among themselves. No country could make progress when brother fought against brother. But that was how it was now and had been in the days of Llewellyn the Great.

Men of Wales sang of Llewellyn the Great, son of Iorwerth who in his turn was the only son of Orwain Gwynedd who could call himself legitimate. They were a wild and roving lot those rulers of Wales – loving to sing and make love wherever they went. And as a consequence, boys learned of the exploits of their ancestors through the songs which were sung at their mothers’ knees and those mothers were rarely the wives of their fathers.

Llewellyn’s own father, Gruffydd, was the result of a liaison between Llewellyn the Great and one of his many mistresses. Llewellyn had had a wife though and she was a daughter of King John of England. Her name was Joan and though illegitimate the King accepted her as his daughter and she, being a woman of character, had tried to bring about peace between Wales and England. After the death of King John she had continued to work for friendly relations between her husband and her half-brother Henry III; in the meantime she produced a son Davydd who naturally thought he had a greater claim to succeed his father than Gruffydd had.

Wales more than most countries had need of a strong man and old Llewellyn was certainly that. He it was who laid the foundations of a great power and showed the English that Wales was a country to be reckoned with. He was also a man who could act forcibly in his domestic relations as he had shown over his wife Joan’s love affair with William de Broase. This was still sung of in ballads.

William de Broase had been captured by Llewellyn and held as his prisoner. To obtain his release he offered to pay a ransom and to give his daughter Isabella as wife to Llewellyn’s son. This offer had tempted Llewellyn greatly for he saw in de Broase a rich and powerful ally. However, while de Broase was in captivity it had been the habit of Llewellyn’s wife Joan to visit him in his prison chamber and they found a great mutual interest in songs and stories of England, for Joan could not forget that although she was the wife of a Welsh ruler she was the daughter of an English king. Broase and Joan fell in love and when these visits of his wife to his prisoner’s chamber were brought to Llewellyn’s ears he decided to lay a trap for the lovers. This he did and they were caught. Llewellyn’s indignation was great but he did not punish his wife, nor did he stop the arranged marriage. He merely brought William de Broase from the prison chamber, announced his crime and hanged him publicly at the town of Crokeen in the presence of many witnesses.

This act was applauded. He had punished the adulterer and at the same time lost none of the advantages which his heir’s marriage to de Broase’s daughter would bring.

That was the present Llewellyn’s grandfather, Llewellyn the Great. Gruffyd, his father, was a man of great girth and equally strong ambition. As the eldest son of Llewellyn he had always believed he had the greatest claim to his father’s dominions even though Joan had had that legitimate son, Davydd. On the death of their father the trouble between them started, and Davydd, who had the greater power on account of his legitimacy, had very soon seized Gruffyd and put him under lock and key.

But Gruffyd had the support of many Welshmen, and the Bishop of Bangor after excommunicating Davydd went to England to see the King and attempt to interest him in Gruffydd’s cause. If the King would help to reinstate him, said the Bishop, Gruffydd’s friends would be prepared to pay a tribute to the King. Henry could never resist the offer of money; he invaded Wales and forced Davydd to hand over Gruffydd who was brought to the Tower of London and kept there while the King made a show of judging his case.

Although Gruffydd was not ill-treated still he was a prisoner. He realised that Henry would attempt to extract all sorts of conditions from him before giving him his freedom and one night he made a rope from his linen and attempted to escape through a window. He made a fatal mistake; the rope was too long and he was a very heavy man. He was discovered lying on the ground with his neck broken. And that was the end of Gruffydd.

The death of their father meant that Llewellyn and his brother were heirs to Wales which was now ruled by their Uncle Davydd, their grandfather’s legitimate son; but two years after Gruffydd’s death, their uncle died. The Welsh, who had suspected that Davydd had become too friendly with the English, welcomed the brothers, Owain and Llewellyn, and they divided certain lands between them. It seemed an amicable solution and the people looked forward to peace. Moreover King Henry invited them to Woodstock where he publicly pardoned their rebellion of the past and made an agreement with them to keep the peace; but this involved signing away much of the Welsh lands so that only Snowdon and Anglesey were in the hands of the brothers.

However, peace was maintained – although an uneasy one, for Llewellyn’s ambition was great. Owain was less aggressive and would have preferred to shrug aside what they had lost and settle for a quiet existence without perpetual war.

But Llewellyn was not one to remain passive for long and he was soon at loggerheads with Owain who sought the support of their younger brother Davydd. Their forces met in battle and as might have been predicted Llewellyn was victorious; he captured Owain and put him under lock and key; Davydd, unfortunately for Llewellyn, was able to make his escape to England.

Llewellyn was then bent on bringing back to Wales all that land which had been in the possession of his grandfather, Llewellyn the Great. He had seen his great opportunity when the barons, under Simon de Montfort, rose against the King. He declared for them and what great triumph there had been throughout Wales when it was learned that the King and his son Edward were prisoners of Simon de Montfort!

It was at Hereford that Llewellyn had met Eleanor – the Demoiselle, an enchantingly beautiful girl with a look of the Plantagenets inherited from her mother, the King’s sister – Eleanor, like herself.

The marriage of Simon de Montfort had been one of the romances of the times. But of course Simon de Montfort was the sort of man who would distinguish himself in whatever he undertook, even marriage. What a man to snatch the King’s sister from under his nose! Although in a moment of weakness Henry had agreed to the marriage however much he had tried to deny it afterwards.

The Demoiselle, they called her. He wanted her. No other would do for him. He could imagine his old grandfather looking down from Heaven and nodding his head in approval.

A wife who was the niece of the King of England! A prophecy from Merlin!

‘What are you waiting for?’ old Llewellyn would have said. ‘Go in and take what is offered to you.’

King of England! That was what the prophecy said. Llewellyn the First. A greater title than that of his grandfather. When they sang their ballads they would sing not of Llewellyn the Great who had hanged his wife’s lover. No, they would sing of Llewellyn the First of England and his beautiful bride the Demoiselle Eleanor.

But he had had bad luck. Edward the new King of England was not like his father. He was a man of action. There was no dallying with Edward. The Demoiselle was coming from France to marry Llewellyn and there was a prophecy given by Merlin that a Llewellyn should become King of England. Edward had determined to stop that as soon as he could. So he had captured Llewellyn’s bride and made her a prisoner, and the first move to bring about the prediction of Merlin had failed.

But that was but the beginning.

In the meantime the Demoiselle was somewhere in England and Llewellyn was in Wales. He had refused to attend the coronation of Edward and swear fealty to him. Was this Edward’s revenge?

Llewellyn had to rescue his bride. He had to show the people of Wales that he was that Llewellyn mentioned in Merlin’s prophecy.

But how?

The weeks passed and still the Demoiselle remained the prisoner of the English.

Edward was delighted with his Bristol seamen who had intercepted the ships bound for Wales.

He strode into the Queen’s chamber, his face shining with delight.

‘Merlin’s prophecy indeed!’ he cried. ‘Why wasn’t Merlin off the Scilly Isles when the ships passed by? Why didn’t he raise a storm and sink our craft?’

‘God forbid,’ cried the Queen. She was pregnant once more and was hoping for a boy as they all were – she, Edward and the Queen Mother. They had not mentioned it to each other, but they were all aware that two-year-old Alfonso was not as healthy as they would have liked. He was bright enough, but there was a certain delicacy about him. Thus it had been with John and Henry. The Queen thought: I could not go through that anxiety again.

Now Edward was not thinking of the boy but of this victory at sea which had brought him what was more desirable than a load of treasure.

‘They will bring our prisoners to land with all speed,’ he said.

‘Poor Demoiselle!’ said the Queen. ‘She will be most unhappy.’

‘Poor Demoiselle indeed! If she had reached Llewellyn we should have been hearing that Merlin had come back from wherever he is to help them. Now that, my dearest, is the last thing I want. This Merlin prophecy is nonsense. I have to prove that to the Welsh … and perhaps some of the English.’

The Queen shuddered. ‘How can it be true?’ she said. ‘But I am sure the Demoiselle is desolate and perhaps a little frightened.’

‘She shall not be harmed,’ Edward promised.

‘Except that she is taken from her husband.’

‘He is not her husband. Nor shall he be unless he is ready to bargain for her. By God and all His saints, this is a happy day for us, Eleanor. He has given me the best possible bargaining counter for my dealings with the troublesome Welsh.’

‘How I wish they would keep within their mountains and we could live at peace.’

‘We never shall, my love, until we are all one. If Wales and Scotland were in my hands …’

‘You have enough to control, Edward.’

‘That control would be easier with loyal subjects everywhere.’

‘You think this will ever be so. Alexander is your brother-in-law but he has always been determined not to swear fealty to you.’

‘And now that Margaret is dead he will doubtless marry again and there will be new loyalties. No, my love, I want to see Wales and Scotland under the English crown. Then we might hope for peace.’

‘I doubt we should achieve it even then. There will always be rebels.’

‘You are right. How fares the little one within?’

‘Kicking heartily.’

‘As a boy would kick?’

‘How can I know? I can only pray that this time it will be a boy.’

‘Well we could do with one.’ He frowned. He was thinking of delicate Alfonso but he would not mention his anxieties to the Queen at this time. She must not be upset while she was carrying the child. He had a fine daughter – she was the apple of his eye, that proud and beautiful daughter of his. His eldest … eleven years old, strong in body and mind. A Plantagenet beauty. Nothing of Castile in her. He should not rejoice in that. It was a slight to his Queen, his dear Eleanor, in whom he rejoiced because of her gentle looks and her gentle ways and that quiet strength which was only exerted to bring good to him. He had Joanna too in Castile. He wished they had never agreed to let her stay, but they would have her back before long. And then Alfonso. But Alfonso was not showing the rude health of his sisters – for there was news from Castile that Joanna was a spirited and vital child. Why was it that his sons should be weak? John, Henry and now Alfonso. He might have had three healthy boys in the nursery. And one little daughter buried in Acre. Well, it was understandable that born thus in such surroundings she might not survive. But the Queen was fruitful. Pray God that this time there was a healthy boy.

The Queen was a little sad, following his thoughts.

‘I shall pray for a boy, Edward,’ she said.

He softened. ‘My dearest, if it is not then we shall have our boy later. We have our Alfonso. When he comes to the throne we shall have to change his name. You know what the English are. They would think he was not English enough if he had a Spanish name. What think you of Edward, eh? Edward the Second.’

She frowned. ‘Please, Edward, do not speak of that day.’

‘Ah, you would be sorry to see me replaced.’

‘Please!’

‘I am sorry, little Queen. I am not going to die. See how strong I am.’ He stood before her in all his glory, his long legs astride – the most handsome king the country had ever known. King Stephen had been a good-looking man but what a weak one. Strength and handsome looks and stern, righteous character, that was what England needed and that was what she had. But she also needed an heir. There must always be an heir. For life could only serve a certain span and no kings however great live for ever. Nor did they know in these days of continual conflict when their last moment might come.

The Queen must have another boy.

Edward changed the subject. ‘I had come to speak to you about the prisoners. Now we have them both – brother and sister.’

‘You will keep them together.’

‘Indeed I shall not. How can I know what Almeric de Montfort will plot? Remember who he is, who his father was. Simon de Montfort! That is a name which must have been graven on my father’s heart. With my grandfather, King John, it was Magna Carta, with my father, King Henry, it was Simon de Montfort.’

‘And with you, my King, what will it be?’

‘I intend none. I shall be in command I hope and make England a stronger country than she was when I came to the throne. No charters, no reformers … that is what I shall aim for. That is why I shall be very careful with Almeric de Montfort. I have given orders that he shall be taken to Corfe Castle and there he shall remain … my prisoner. He shall live comfortably but I must make sure that he is not allowed his freedom.’

‘And his sister?’

‘I am having her brought to you. You will know how to look after her.’

The Queen smiled. ‘I shall try to console her,’ she said.

‘Never forgetting that she is the daughter of my father’s great enemy and strives to be the wife of one of mine.’

‘I shall remember that and also that she is the daughter of your aunt. She is royal and must be treated as such.’

‘I know you will do what is best,’ said the King.

‘I shall always do what I think to be best … for you!’ she added.

He smiled, knowing she spoke the truth.

Eleanor de Montfort arrived at Windsor in a state of hopelessness. Ever since she had realised that the ship in which she was sailing had been taken by her cousin Edward’s subjects she believed that all hope of her marriage was doomed. She was in her twenty-fourth year and but for the fact that her family were in exile she would have been married eight or nine years ago. It had always been Llewellyn for her. She and the Welsh prince had fallen in love on first sight and she remembered still the ecstasy which they had shared when they knew they were to be betrothed. She had often heard of her mother’s stormy passage to marriage, how she and her father had married in secret and how they had to fly from the country when the King’s wrath was turned against them. That was romantic and exciting but so much could have gone wrong; and she had been so glad that her parents were in favour of this marriage she wanted.

But how quickly life could change and when it was all set fair like a ship at sea a cruel wind could arise and the ship which had been sailing calmly onwards could be swept off its course and sometimes dashed to pieces on the wicked rocks.

So it had seemed with her. All those years ago she was to have been married and events had turned against her. And now when she really believed she was on her way to happiness once more she was frustrated.

And what would Edward do to her when she was handed over to him like a slave? She had heard that he was strong and ruthless. She knew that her brother Guy hated him. So did Almeric. Guy and Simon had murdered Henry of Cornwall. They would have liked to murder Edward.

Edward would know this. She had heard that when news had been brought to him of Henry of Cornwall’s murder, he had been stricken with rage and grief and had vowed vengeance. She knew that only recently when he had become King, before he went to England to claim his crown, he had called on the Pope to ask for retribution for the murder of his cousin of Cornwall. Edward hated her family, so what could she and Almeric expect from him?

She had been terrified when they had taken Almeric from her. She had clung to him and he had whispered to her: ‘Don’t break down. Remember you are of royal blood and best of all a de Montfort. Do not let them have the satisfaction of gloating over your grief.’

But she had been treated with respect as though she, the King’s cousin, were paying a visit to him. Yet he was a ruthless man and she knew that he would remember how her father had once succeeded in taking his father from the throne, even if only for a brief period.

And so they arrived at Windsor.

The Queen, she heard, had given orders that she was to be taken to her.

The Queen was in the nurseries. The Demoiselle saw a heavily pregnant woman with a gentle smile, by no means strikingly handsome but pleasant looking.

The Demoiselle approached and sank to her knees.

A hand touched her shoulder. ‘Rise, cousin,’ said the Queen. ‘The King told me you were coming.’ Kind eyes were studying her face, eyes which clearly showed the sympathy the Queen was feeling for the poor prisoner who had been snatched from her betrothed.

‘The King has put you in my charge,’ she said. ‘We are cousins and I hope we shall be friends.’

The Demoiselle, who so far had held her head high and implied, she hoped, that they could do with her what they wished and she would not beg for their mercy, now felt her eyes filling with tears. Her lips quivered and the Queen said, ‘Come and sit with me, cousin. As you see I am not far from my time. I want you to meet my son and daughter.’

‘My lady,’ said the Demoiselle, ‘I know I am your prisoner.’

‘I like not that word,’ said the Queen. ‘I am going to make you forget it during your stay with us. Now, cousin, let us sit down and talk.’

The Demoiselle awoke each morning to a sense of desolation. She longed to know what was happening in Wales and how Llewellyn had received the news of her capture. She found the Queen sympathetic. Like everyone else she drew comfort from that warm and kindly personality. The Queen would sit at her tapestry, for she loved to work on it. She it was who had started the fashion for hanging tapestries on walls and they certainly gave warmth and colour to an apartment. The Queen was growing larger every week and her time would soon come. She did not speak of her coming confinement in the Demoiselle’s presence for she feared it might bring home to the poor girl that she was being denied the sort of comfort which she herself enjoyed.

The Queen Mother was less tactful. She made it clear that she did not approve of the Demoiselle’s being treated as an honoured member of the family. She had mentioned this to the Queen, who made one of her rare stands against her mother-in-law as she would occasionally when she thought some matter of kindness or sympathy to a bereaved person was involved.

‘My lady,’ said the Queen, ‘the Demoiselle is Edward’s cousin. You are her aunt by marriage. She is therefore a member of our family.’

The Queen Mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘She is the daughter of the greatest enemy my husband ever had.’

‘She is also the daughter of his sister.’

‘If you could only know what we suffered through Simon de Montfort you would understand. It was her brothers who murdered dear Henry of Cornwall … Edward’s cousin and greatest friend.’

‘But she was not responsible.’

‘I cannot endure to look at her.’

The Queen could only shake her head sadly. If the Queen Mother could not endure the sight of the Demoiselle then she must stay away from where the girl was.

The Queen Mother raged. How different from the days when Henry was alive. Then the Demoiselle would have been sent away from Court. Nothing would have been allowed to offend Henry’s beloved Queen.

The Queen was sorry that she had to disappoint her mother-in-law but she felt at this stage that the poor little Demoiselle was in greater need than that domineering lady who could, alas, only see life as it affected herself.

The Queen Mother consoled herself by going to the schoolroom and spending a little time with her dear granddaughter – such an attractive girl – and darling Alfonso whom she loved, although he gave her such qualms of anxiety.

She was, however, not going to allow the matter to rest, and she thought that it would be better for the Queen if she realised that her soft attitude towards the family’s enemies was not a good one and that she would be well advised at times to forget her ever-ready sympathy and listen to sound common sense.

She waylaid Edward. He was not very easy to confront these days. He was very concerned with the Welsh matter. Llewellyn was incensed of course to have lost his intended bride and was out to make trouble. Edward had sent up a force in preparation, but he was very disturbed and it rankled with him that he could not be with his armies there, because affairs kept him for the time in London.

‘My dear son,’ she said, ‘do you think the Queen is at ease?’

Edward looked startled. ‘She is well, is she not?’ he asked anxiously.

She had aroused him from his Welsh concerns. He really cared about his wife. Such a meek woman! She would have thought he would hardly be aware of her except as a bearer of his children, but she supposed he, being of an overbearing nature, was glad to have a mild creature who could say nothing but yes, yes, yes. Oh for the spirited old days when her word had been law! Henry had had such good sense. He always grasped her point of view immediately.

‘Oh, the child is well enough I doubt not. I pray it will be a healthy boy. But perhaps she is a little uneasy about our … prisoner, which is natural. When you think of what the creature’s father did to yours …’

Edward’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, the Demoiselle. The Queen is not concerned about her. She tells me she is a charming girl and she grows fonder of her every week.’

‘I have no doubt this Demoiselle has inherited a little of her father’s cunning. One as simple as the Queen …’ Edward frowned and she added quickly, ‘… and as tender-hearted … would see no wrong in anyone … not until it was brought home to her. Edward, the girl should be put into confinement. Why not send her to Corfe? Her brother is there …’

‘Dear Mother, this girl has done no wrong. She was sent for by Llewellyn and I have had the good fortune to intercept her. I have no quarrel with her. It is Llewellyn who is my enemy.’

‘And not the girl who would be his wife. Edward, surely you cannot mean that you do not see …’

‘I say what I mean,’ said Edward sternly, very much the King. More than six feet of splendid manhood looking down at her made her not so much quail as decide to change her tactics. In a way she was proud of him, as in a way he loved and admired her. But if it was a battle for power there was no doubt who was going to win. He had everything on his side now. He was the King and she knew him well enough to realise that the Demoiselle’s chances of remaining at the palace in the company of the Queen were now double those of what they would have been had she not interfered.

She sighed. ‘Well, perhaps one day you will change your mind when …’

He looked at her and that lid which fell over his eyes slightly and reminded her poignantly of his father could have added a sternness to his face but his mouth was tender.

‘If I have to change my mind, dear lady, because I am proved wrong, I should be the first to admit it.’

He was strong. If only she could have guided him as she had Henry she would have been greatly reconciled to her life.

She wanted to test his love for her.

‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I fancy my days of usefulness are over. Perhaps I should do what ladies of my age so often do … go into a convent.’

‘You would not like that I am sure.’

‘Would you like it, Edward?’

‘Dear lady, you know how I and Eleanor like to have you here. You know how the children adore you. How could we want you to shut yourself away? But if it is your wish …’

‘Well, I will tell you this,’ she said. ‘I have considered taking the veil and have been to Amesbury to look at the place.’

The King smiled. He could picture his mother entering the convent, becoming the abbess and setting up her rule there. ‘And you have decided against it?’

‘While they want to take my wealth, yes. I have no fancy to give up my possessions to a convent.’

‘Nay. You will have to get them to rescind that rule.’

‘Indeed I should before I entered such a place.’

‘In the meantime you will continue to bless us with your company?’

‘For as long as my health is good.’

She saw the little lights of alarm in his eyes. She had never been one to complain about her health. She had rather thought that people who professed bad health were in some way to blame for such feebleness.

Edward suddenly thought of his childhood when she had been the most important person in his life. She had been love, security … everything to him. He would never forget. He loved her deeply and nothing could change that love, and even though he would not brook her interference he could not love her any less for interfering any more than she could love him less for refusing to take her advice.

She had suffered cruelly lately. The death of her two beloved daughters had been a great shock to her. She could be hurt most through her loved ones and whatever her faults she had been the most devoted of wives and mothers.

He was at her side, taking her face in his hands, looking at her anxiously. Joy flooded her heart. Real concern. The Welsh forgotten, the Demoiselle of no importance. Even the Queen’s imminent confinement relegated to second place. There was nothing but fear for his mother.

‘My mother,’ he said quietly, ‘is there something you have to tell me? If you are ill … if you are keeping something back …’

‘My dear, dear son, I am getting old, that is all. Life has been cruel to me of late. Your father’s death killed half of me … and now God has taken my daughters. Two of them, Edward. How could He! What have I done to deserve that? But I have my sons … my most beloved King. If my old physician William were here I would see him. But no other … No, it is nothing … I am just an old woman who has suffered too much the pain of loss.’

‘Mother, I am going to send for William.’

‘Nay, son. He is in Provence I believe. It is too far. Let us forget this. I should never have mentioned it.’

‘I am sending without delay for the physician. He will be here just as soon as it is possible for him to be.’

‘Edward, my son, you have other matters with which to concern yourself.’

‘What could be of greater moment than my mother’s health?’

Sweet words. Not entirely true but sweet nevertheless.

And he was true to them. It was not long before the Queen Mother’s physician arrived from Provence.

September had come and the birth of the Queen’s child was imminent.

There was a hush over the palace. Everyone was expectant. It should be a boy. It must be a boy. The Prince Alfonso was a bright boy, but he had that all-too-familiar air of delicacy which had been John’s and Henry’s. A great deal of care was taken of him and the physicians said that if he could survive the first seven years of his childhood he could grow to a healthy man. They recalled his father’s infancy. It was difficult to believe now that Edward had ever been a sickly child. Alfonso was only two. It would be a great comfort if a really healthy boy were born.

The Queen was a little sad, wondering if some fault lay in her. It seemed strange. She had had six children – this one would be the seventh. Three of them only lived. Perhaps one should not stress too much the little girl who had been born at Acre. The circumstances of her birth were against her. Joanna had lived and thrived though, and Eleanor was a fine healthy child. It was the boys whom it was so difficult to rear. Would she ever be able to forget little John and Henry? Never! Because she blamed herself for leaving them. And now Alfonso was not as strong as he should be. She had moved them from the Tower and Westminster to Windsor which she believed to be so much more healthy. But she had to admit that Alfonso had changed little since he had been at Windsor.

She must pray for a boy – a healthy boy.

In the afternoon her pains started while she stood calmly at her window looking to the forest where the leaves of the trees were already turning to bronze, for September had come.

She calmly told one of the attendants to go to the Queen Mother’s apartment and ask her if she would come to her quickly. The woman departed with all speed and as soon as the Queen Mother looked into the face of the breathless woman she knew, and immediately went to the Queen’s apartment.

The Queen was serene. The birth of a seventh child is not like the first. She knew what to expect and she had always given birth without much discomfort.

The energetic Queen Mother gave orders sharply. Soon there was great activity in the royal apartments.

As expected the labour was not arduous, but the result was disappointing.

The Demoiselle chose a moment when the Queen Mother was absent to come into the Queen’s bedchamber to see the baby.

‘What a dear little girl!’ she said.

The Queen smiled. ‘Yes, a dear little girl.’

‘But you wanted a boy.’

‘Now I have seen her, she is the one I want.’

‘The King will love her.’

‘The King loves all his children.’

The Demoiselle nodded, her eyes were misty. Poor child, thought the Queen, she dreams of the children it seems she will never have.

‘I have heard she may be called Margaret,’ said the Demoiselle, noting the pity in the Queen’s eyes.

‘It is what the Queen Mother wishes,’ said the Queen. ‘In memory of the Queen of Scotland.’

The Demoiselle nodded and remembered that life was sad for others as well as herself.

She asked if she might hold the baby and the Queen, smiling, gave her permission. After a while the Queen said, ‘The children will want to see her. They are being brought in.’

The Demoiselle put the baby in the cradle and was prepared for flight in case the Queen Mother came with the children.

She did and the girl slipped away. The Queen Mother frowned but the children were exclaiming loudly.

‘Oh, she is only little!’ cried Alfonso in a disappointed tone.

‘Well,’ retorted the Queen Mother, ‘what did you expect her to be? Big like yourself? You are two years old remember. She is but two weeks.’

‘They said we were to have a brother,’ said the Princess Eleanor rather reproachfully.

‘God sent us a girl instead,’ the Queen answered.

‘Which,’ commented Eleanor, ‘was rather unkind of Him when He knew what my father wanted.’

‘Well, we all have to have what is sent us,’ said the Queen Mother brightly.

‘You don’t, my lady,’ retorted the Princess. ‘You have what you want.’

The Queen Mother loved Eleanor. What a bright child. If the worst came to the worst Edward would have to make her his heir. She would speak to him about it some time … perhaps not yet. It was a little tactless while Alfonso lived, but the boy did have an air of delicacy and he was so like little Johnny had been at his age; and very soon Henry had begun to go like it.

Oh what a pity this child was not another boy!

As soon as he could, Edward came to his wife.

She lay in her bed looking at him appealingly.

‘Edward, I’m sorry.’

He laughed aloud. He was not going to let her know how disappointed he was.

‘Why, she is a beautiful child, and Margaret, eh? That was my mother’s choice and you agree with it.’

‘It pleases her so to honour the Queen of Scotland.’

‘And you, dear good soul that you are, will agree for her sake. God bless you, my Queen.’

‘I am so glad that you are not angry.’

‘What sort of man should I be if I were angry with you? By God, we’ll have sons yet. You were made to be a mother of them and I a father. Don’t fret, sweet wife. We have had seven to this time. There’ll be another seven you’ll see and if among them there are a stalwart boy or two I’ll be satisfied.’

She smiled and thought she was indeed blessed with such a husband.

A few weeks after the child’s birth there was alarming news from Wales. Ever since the capture of the Demoiselle, as was to be expected, Llewellyn had been making raids into England with some success. Edward had sent an army to deal with him, and had expected news of success. It had been delayed rather longer than he had thought it would.

Then came the news. The English army had been defeated at Kidwelly.

Edward was dismayed. The Queen was anxious. The Queen Mother was furious. And the Demoiselle could not completely hide her satisfaction.

Edward stormed into the Queen’s apartment. There was nothing for it. He would have to get together the best of his armies. If a job had to be well done there was only one who should do it and that was oneself.

‘Edward,’ said the Queen, ‘it is only a skirmish he has won. Need you go into danger? Cannot your soldiers let him know that he must keep the peace?’

‘If it were not for this prophecy of Merlin’s I might agree with you. He must not win … even a skirmish. His little victories will be sung into big ones. You know the Welsh and their songs. Verses not deeds make their heroes. It may be that this prophecy of Merlin’s was made by a poet and sung of until people believed it for truth. Nay, I must teach Llewellyn a lesson. I shall not be long away. I must drive this man back to his mountains. It is the only way.’

The King made his preparations to leave and before he went the Queen was able to tell him that she was once more pregnant.

The Demoiselle was white with misery. It was hard for her to keep believing in Merlin’s prophecy when she lived close to the power of the great English King.

Edward marched up to Wales and they waited for news. The Queen grew large with child.

‘This time,’ she said, ‘it must be a boy. What wonderful news that would be to send to the King.’

The Demoiselle sat with the Princess Eleanor and they worked on their tapestry together.

‘You are sad,’ said the Princess, ‘because my father is going to kill your lover.’

‘What if my lover killed your father?’ replied the Demoiselle.

‘No one could kill my father. He is the King.’

‘Llewellyn has been promised the crown by Merlin.’

‘He lived long ago. He does not count now,’ said the Princess, placidly stitching. ‘Do you like this blue silk?’

‘I do,’ said the Demoiselle.

‘Tell me about Llewellyn,’ said Eleanor. ‘Is he beautiful?’

‘He is the most beautiful man in the world.’

‘That is my father. So you lie.’

‘He is beautiful for me as your father is for you.’

‘But you said the most beautiful.’ Eleanor cried out. She had pricked her finger. ‘Do you think my mother will have a boy?’ she asked.

‘That is in God’s hands.

‘And God is not very kind, is He? He took my two brothers and my aunts Margaret and Beatrice. My grandmother is very cross with Him.’ She shivered. Obviously she was sorry for anyone with whom her grandmother was cross. ‘I’ll tell you a secret, Demoiselle, if you promise to tell no one.’

The Demoiselle looked eager. She was always hoping to learn something about Llewellyn and she knew that news about him was kept from her.

‘I will tell no one.’

‘I was glad Margaret was a girl. I hope this one will be a girl.’

‘But why? Don’t you know how much they want a boy?’

The Princess nodded gravely. ‘I heard them talking about Alfonso. They were saying he was like John and Henry. Then one of them said: “It may well be that the King would make Princess Eleanor” – that is myself – “heir to the throne.” You see, Demoiselle, if there were no boys and Alfie went the way of … the others … I should be the one. I, the Princess. Princesses can become queens you know. Real queens – not like my mother and grandmother who just married kings, but The Queen.’

The Demoiselle looked shocked. ‘You should not say such things,’ she said. ‘They are not … becoming.’

‘I know. That is why they are secret. You don’t have to be … becoming … in secret.’

The Demoiselle studied the ambitious little girl who kept her ears and eyes open. She supposed there was a possibility of her realising her ambition.

Poor child, she had yet to learn the trials of wearing a crown.

As the months passed and the Queen’s confinement drew near there was little news from Wales.

Then less than a year after the birth of little Margaret, another child was born to the Queen.

There was general despondency. Another girl! They called her Berengaria because of a fancy the Queen had, and when a short while afterwards the child grew more and more sickly it was said that it was an unlucky name to have given a child. It recalled the sad queen of Richard Coeur de Lion. He had never loved her; he had neglected her; and she had been an unhappy woman, a barren woman. Poor soul, said the Queen Mother, she rarely had an opportunity to be anything else for everyone knew of the King’s preference for fighting crusades and for handsome people of his own sex. A man to sing of rather than to live with.

Berengaria. It was a doomed name.

The Queen was sad, eagerly awaiting news from the Welsh border, but not more eagerly than the Demoiselle.

But the Princess Eleanor had a light in her eyes which showed she was not altogether displeased by the turn of events.

Gloom settled over Windsor. The King was on the Welsh border with his forces but it was not easy to gain the victory he sought. It was the Welsh mountains which defeated him time after time.

The Demoiselle was like a grey ghost in the palace. She longed for news yet dreaded it. She prayed for Llewellyn; she did not care whether Merlin’s prophecy came true or not. It was not a King of England she wanted; she could have been completely happy with a Prince of Wales … and peace.

The Queen Mother was so hostile to her that she wondered why she did not force her to leave Windsor. But the gentle Queen would be firm about that. It was after all the King’s wish that although she was a prisoner she should not be treated as one. Sometimes she would dream of how different her life would have been if the ship which was taking her to Wales had not been intercepted by the English. She and Llewellyn together with perhaps a little son or daughter. She would not have minded which. Oh how different it would have been from this weary waiting, this never-ending anxiety. Every time a messenger came to the castle she was in terror of what news he would bring. So was the Queen. She feared for Edward as the Demoiselle feared for Llewellyn.

The Queen had discovered how Almeric was faring in Corfe Castle and had assured the Demoiselle that he was being well treated. ‘In spite of everything,’ said the Queen, ‘the King does not forget that you are cousins.’

Edward was just, and the Demoiselle did not think he would be unduly cruel unless he found it expedient to be so. He was not like her grandfather King John who had taken pleasure in inflicting pain.

It was circumstances rather than individuals that had decided on her cruel fate.

The Queen Mother had received the Provençal physician William who assured her that her ailments were only those of encroaching age and that as she was usually healthy, there were many years left to her. That made good hearing and she rejoiced that Edward had sent for him. William was to stay in England – those were the King’s commands – and he must be given certain privileges which the Queen Mother would decide on.

That was very satisfactory. If Edward could only settle that tiresome business in Wales and they could send the Demoiselle to Corfe to join her brother, and Edward could come home and get his wife with a child who would prove a boy, and if little Alfonso would show a little more vitality, all would be as well as it could be without the late King.

Meanwhile Edward had begun the Welsh invasion and was at Chester when one of his men-at-arms came to tell him that a messenger from the Welsh was asking to see him.

‘I will see this man,’ said Edward.

The man hesitated. He was obviously thinking of another occasion when Edward had received a messenger in his tent in the Holy Land.

Edward acknowledged the man’s concern and gave him a friendly nod. ‘Bring him in,’ he said.

He stood before the King, a tall proud figure.

Edward knew him at once; he had been a prominent member of the Welsh party at a meeting when a truce had been made between the English and the Welsh.

‘Davydd ab Gruffydd,’ he said. ‘What brings you to me?’

‘I have come to offer my services to you.’

The King narrowed his eyes. He did not like traitors and that Llewellyn’s brother should come to him thus aroused his suspicions. He knew that there was conflict between the brothers. He knew that the elder brother Owain had with Davydd fought against Llewellyn and it was because Llewellyn had been victorious that he was looked upon as the ruler of the principality. It was one matter for Welshmen to fight against Welshmen but to fight on the side of the English against the Welsh was quite another.

Of course there was a long record of treachery among these people. All the more reason, thought Edward, not to trust him. Still, if he was well watched he could be an asset. It would be good for those who believed in Merlin’s prophecy to know that even Llewellyn’s brother was fighting with the English against him.

Edward said, ‘I accept your offer.’

‘I will show you how to conquer my false brother. I know his weaknesses.’

‘I know them too,’ said Edward. ‘Well, Davydd ab Gruffyd, you shall be my ally. If you work with me, then I shall reward you. If you play the traitor to me I will make it so that you wish you had never been born rather than have to face what I shall inflict on you.’

‘My lord, I will serve you faithfully, until such time as you see fit to reward me.’

Davydd was smiling triumphantly. This would show Llewellyn that brother though he might be he was ready to go to the enemy rather than submit to a minor role in Welsh affairs.

When Llewellyn heard that his brother had gone to the English he was very melancholy. It seemed that he was being persecuted from all sides. He believed that had his Demoiselle been brought safely to him it would have been a sign that Heaven was on his side, and all his followers would have seen it as such. Superstitious as they were they had already begun to doubt Merlin’s prophecy and he knew how dangerous that was. He had appealed to the Pope to take the English to task for capturing and imprisoning his bride, but the Pope was not likely to support an unimportant prince against the growing might of the King of England. He had had his success in those skirmishes but they were not serious war and now great Edward himself had come to march against him. With the King was his brother, Edmund of Lancaster, returning from France with his new bride Blanche, daughter of Robert of Artois, De Lacy, Roger Mortimer, the Earl of Hereford and all the flower of Edward’s army. Clearly he had come up this time to conquer.

Llewellyn knew that his real ally was the mountainous country, and but for that he would be a beaten man.

He wondered if she were thinking of him now, if she often remembered that day when they had been betrothed and had believed that before long they would marry. If he failed now, what would become of her? Would they find a new husband for her? After all she was the King’s cousin. Dear Demoiselle, so gentle, so beautiful. He knew that she would be thinking of him, praying for him. It must come to pass that they marry. There must be truth in Merlin’s prophecy.

Even then news was brought to him of a debacle in South Wales where Edmund of Lancaster was advancing and there was nothing left for Llewellyn to do but protect what was left to him.

The ships from the Cinque Ports were now in the Menai Straits; Anglesey was cut off from Snowdon. It would be a simple matter to starve out the Welsh. That this was Edward’s intention became clear for instead of advancing and thereby running the risk of losing some of his men in battle, he set about consolidating his position and strengthening those castles he had captured. With fury Llewellyn learned that he was not only working on the fortifications but beautifying them, as though he already owned them.

Those were dreary months. There was Llewellyn with those of his followers who were faithful and continued to believe in Merlin’s prophecies, knowing full well that they would have to give up in time because the King’s intentions were to starve them until they surrendered.

Llewellyn spoke to his men.

‘Rest assured the prophecy will come true. Llewellyn shall reign over all England and then he will not forget his faithful friends. But it may well be that the time has not yet come. We must perforce suffer long and fight for this great prize.’

To fight was well enough. To starve was different.

There came a message from Edward. He would have Llewellyn know that he wished him no ill. All he wanted from him was his loyalty. He must indeed do homage for the lands of Wales, and he would be left to rule over them in peace as long as he did nothing to offend the laws of the King of England. Edward was ready to come to some agreement with Llewellyn. He would restore his bride to him, for he had no wish to hold her against her will and that of Llewellyn. All Llewellyn had to do was swear allegiance to the King of England and accept him as his sovereign lord.

It was a great deal to ask, but there was so much to be gained.

The outcome was that they met at Conway – that great fortress on which Edward had already set his men to work.

Edward was strong, stern, but not without a certain benignity. He had no wish to continue in a war which Llewellyn knew full well he had already lost. Nor did he wish to be unduly harsh. Because of this he had sent for the Demoiselle to come to Worcester and there if Llewellyn agreed to his terms they should all meet to sign the treaty after which the marriage would be solemnised.

From despair Llewellyn was raised to hope. All he had to do was submit to Edward, declare himself his vassal, pay certain monies, give certain concessions and his Demoiselle would be his.

‘I will send to you’, wrote Edward, ‘your brother Davydd who had the good sense you lacked when he joined me. He will lay my terms before you and when all is settled we will proceed to Worcester for the signing and there your marriage shall take place.’

Receive Davydd, the traitor brother! How could he! Yet he understood Edward’s motive. Edward wanted peace … peace between the brothers as well as between England and Wales. Llewellyn had no alternative but to receive Davydd and he did so.

The two brothers regarded each other with reserve.

It was Davydd who spoke first. ‘I regret nothing that I have done,’ he said. ‘I went over to the King because I knew you were fighting a losing battle, and by working with Edward fewer of our castles would be ruined, less of our land desecrated. I have proved that I was right because you now are ready to come to terms with him.’

‘Perhaps those terms would not have been necessary if we had all stood together,’ said Llewellyn.

‘Perhaps we should have stood together if the land had been fairly divided. We brothers wanted some, Llewellyn, and there was not enough to go round.’

‘Can we trust Edward?’

‘He is a man who prides himself on honouring his word. He can be trusted better than most kings. Already he has fulfilled his promise to me. I have a wife now, you know, Llewellyn.’

‘Is that so?’

‘A rich wife provided by Edward. The daughter of the Earl of Derby is now my wife. She has brought me much joy … and riches. You fret for the Demoiselle. Make your terms and marry. A man is meant to get sons, not to spend his days in a damp and draughty tent.’

‘You are a satisfied man, Davydd.’

‘For the time,’ said Davydd.

Of course he was right, thought Llewellyn. A man was a fool who did not know when he was beaten. There was a time to stop fighting, to make peace so that he could live to fight another day.

And meanwhile the Demoiselle was beckoning him.

And there she was at Worcester. The King had sent for her and he gazed in delight as she came towards him. She had grown up since he had last seen her, become a graceful, gracious woman. Love shone from her eyes which were appealing, a little apprehensive, as though she feared she might not please him. He wanted to reassure her. It was not for her to falter. Did he please her? He was some ten years older than she was and a soldier led a hard life. Perhaps it left its mark.

He took her hand. He said: ‘My Demoiselle … my beautiful Demoiselle.’

‘Llewellyn.’ She spoke his name softly.

It was enough.

The King with the Queen beside him looked on benignly. Happily married themselves, they understood and showed their sympathy. There were tears in the Queen’s eyes; she was a good kind woman.

‘There need be no delay in the ceremony,’ said the King briskly. ‘Once all the terms are agreed to.’

All the terms. Edward was a man to drive a hard bargain. But he could be trusted. He had promised the Demoiselle and she was there.

Llewellyn had surrendered all his prisoners to the King of England and they included his eldest brother Owain whom he had held in captivity for more than ten years; he had given up his claims to South Wales and agreed to pay a fine of fifty thousand pounds. Anglesey was restored to him but he must pay a rent for it and if he died without heirs it was to be returned to the King. The barons of Wales would pay homage to Edward instead of to Llewellyn.

Yes, it was a hard bargain that Edward drove. Llewellyn’s territory was reduced to that around Snowdon one might say, and the King had freed Owain and rewarded him with lands and done the same for Davydd plus a rich wife. He was showing them how he rewarded those who worked against his enemies.

It was a sorry state of affairs, but Llewellyn was in love. And what mattered most was that he had his Demoiselle.