The Vow on the Heron

THE SCOTTISH ADVENTURE

WHEN young Edward, a few weeks after his coronation, had ridden out at the head of his army to meet the Scots his father had been alive, and Edward believed comfortably lodged in Kenilworth Castle as the guest of his cousin, the Earl of Lancaster.

It was somewhat disconcerting to find oneself a king at the age of fourteen, but Edward had always been aware of his destiny and was determined to show them that he could be his grandfather all over again. Throughout his life he had been compared with his grandfather. ‘He grows more like Great Edward every day.’ How often had he heard that whispered. It was never ‘How like his father.’ And he had learned that that would not have been a compliment, for he had realized that all was not well with his father.

He had never really felt at ease with the tall fair-haired handsome man who had always been kind to him, though often absent-minded as though, much as he delighted in his son, he was not really interested in him. Hugh le Despenser was constantly with him and it seemed to the boy that they shared private jokes and that anyone who came near them was intruding.

When he had joined his mother in France he had been ready to believe that his father was not a good man and to accept the fact that she could no longer love him. There had been so many to convince him that she was right. Roger de Mortimer, Earl of Wigmore and now the Earl of March, was one of them and, although there was something about Mortimer which he did not like, the Earl was a powerful man with a convincing way with him and his mother said that he was their most faithful friend.

Sir John of Hainault was another and he was a great soldier. Then there were his uncles, the Dukes of Kent and Norfolk. They had come to help her; and with so many supporters and the people of England acclaiming her, he was certain that she had done right when she came to England with an army and his father was forced to give up the crown.

Then had come the moment when he had had to make his decision and something had told him that he must not take that which was his father’s unless his father first gave his consent; and it was not until they came to him with his father’s agreement that he had allowed himself to be crowned. It was his first act of defiance and it had surprised them a little. It had taken a certain firmness to insist on that but being about to become a king he was determined to act like one.

Almost immediately he was setting out on the Scottish campaign for Robert the Bruce had agreed to meet him to discuss peace terms. Robert the Bruce was a man he had heard mentioned throughout his childhood and he knew that there was a leader to be reckoned with in spite of the fact that, according to rumour, he was dying of leprosy, which was probably the reason why he wanted a permanent peace. He was a bold man and it was soon realized that in spite of his desire for peace he was determined to have it on his own terms and if he could not achieve this then he would invade England. For this purpose he had gathered together a large army and there must only be one reply to this. Edward must march at the head of his army and be ready for action if the talks should fail.

Newly crowned and with the knowledge that his father was the guest of his cousin the Earl of Lancaster in Kenilworth he had set out for the North. With him and his army came his mother and Mortimer, his eleven-year-old brother John, and his two sisters, nine-year-old Eleanor and six-year-old Joanna. They would not of course go into battle with the army but remain in York while the troops, with Edward at their head, marched up to the Border and into Scotland.

They had been joined by Sir John of Hainault, a rather exuberant romantic-minded knight, brother of the Count of Hainault, who had taken pity on Queen Isabella when she was exiled from her brother’s country of France and needed help to begin the invasion of England. Sir John was so overcome with admiration that he had persuaded his brother to provide the money for Isabella and Mortimer to raise an army.

That was not entirely the truth. There had been an understanding between Isabella and the Count of Hainault and it concerned Edward’s marriage. They had bargained in secret and strangely enough Edward had felt no resentment and this for a very special reason. When he had arrived at the Court of Hainault, after having somewhat humiliatingly left the French Court where they had become unwelcome guests, Edward had enjoyed one of the most pleasant weeks of his life. This was due to the happy time he had spent with the Count’s four charming daughters, and there was one of these daughters who had become his special friend. That was Philippa. He had found her elder sister Margaret charming and her two younger sisters Jeanne and Isabella pleasing; but it was Philippa who had affected him most deeply. She was a tall girl, brown-haired, brown-eyed and with a dazzling pink-and-white complexion, and he had been struck by a certain simplicity lacking in the girls of her age he had met at the Court of France. Not that she was by any means stupid, far from it. She was lively and laughed easily and was so frankly honest that he could not help being charmed by her. Perhaps too his delight in her company was enhanced by her admiration for him. When he had left Hainault she had astonished everyone by bursting into tears because she had to say goodbye to him; and she did this before her parents and their entourage who had gathered together to wish him, his mother and their followers well.

So the fact that his mother had contrived to get the means to raise an army from the Count of Hainault on the condition that her son should marry one of his daughters, and the money supplied was in truth the dowry of that daughter, did not greatly perturb Edward.

One thing he would insist on was that when one of the Hainault girls was chosen for him that girl would have to be Philippa.

When he thought of Philippa and his marriage which must take place soon he felt a rising exultation. It was true he was not yet fifteen but his age would be no deterrent. Philippa was some months younger than he was but when they had ridden out together and he had come to know her he had seen that she was as ready for marriage as he was. It would be gratifying to offer her the crown of England, and he wanted to return from Scotland a conqueror. When he thought of these matters he could easily suppress uneasy thoughts about his father. Had he not given up the crown of his own free will? He preferred a life of ease at Kenilworth in the company of his cousin Lancaster to ruling a country. There was no need to wonder or worry about him. He had always been rather strange, different from other men; and the Queen had assured him that all had been done for the best.

He could believe that, and when Philippa came to him it would be wonderful to have her crowned as his Queen.

Once this Scottish matter was over he would insist on marriage and that his bride must be Philippa of Hainault.

He welcomed Sir John to York. He was delighted to see him not only because he was Philippa’s uncle but because he came with a great army.

His mother greeted Sir John with great affection. She would never forget what he had done for her and she constantly told him so. Sir John was in love with the Queen which made the situation charmingly romantic.

Edward found his mother in her private chamber. Roger de Mortimer was with her. It was becoming more and more impossible to see his mother without Mortimer’s being there too.

‘My dearest son,’ said the Queen embracing him, ‘is it not good to see these men of Hainault in the town?’

‘I welcome them,’ replied Edward.

‘They have been good friends to us,’ commented Mortimer. He was a little forward, Edward thought. He behaved as though he were a member of the family. Mortimer’s manner often irritated him, but his mother did not seem to notice that there was anything wrong and Edward felt too unsure of himself to show he was aware of it.

‘Indeed, it is so,’ said Edward with a certain hauteur. ‘The Count of Hainault proved himself most hospitable to us.’

‘At a time we most needed it,’ went on the Queen. ‘Now I would show similar hospitality to Sir John. I am arranging a banquet to welcome them to York.’

Young Edward inclined his head. Perhaps they should have asked his permission first. Not his own mother surely! He was of course the King but he had to be guided by them in most things. It was not so had when it came from his mother, but he was not sure that he liked to see Mortimer there all the time nodding as though he himself had been the main judge in what should be done. He wondered whether he should speak to his mother about Mortimer. Whenever she mentioned the man there would be a very special note in her voice. What was it? Respect? Admiration? Affection? Well perhaps Mortimer had stood by her when she most needed friends.

‘Sir John will be lodged in an abbey belonging to the White Monks,’ said Mortimer. ‘His men will be close by in quarters allotted to them. It is well not to have them too close to our English troops.’

Edward looked puzzled.

‘There has been a certain amount of friction,’ explained the Queen. ‘The Flemings do certain things differently from the English and it seems that people are inclined to sneer at those who are not exactly like themselves. A strange trait of human nature ... but one commonly found I believe.’

‘How stupid,’ said Edward.

Mortimer smiled his slow rather patronizing smile. “Tis so, my lord, but so many things in life are.’

As though, thought the King, reminding me that I have much to learn.

‘Where is the banquet to take place?’

‘In the house of the Friars Minor,’ his mother told him. ‘It seemed suitable—both the Earl of March and I were of the opinion that it was the best place.’

The Earl of March! Roger de Mortimer. He was nothing but a Marcher Baron until he made his escape from the Tower—where he was being held a prisoner—and was joined by the Queen in France. Then they had gone to Hainault and found help there and come to England, as a result of which his father was a guest at Kenilworth Castle and he was a king.

‘Sir John has been invited?’ he asked coolly.

‘Yes,’ replied his mother. ‘And he is delighted.’

‘Perhaps it would have been proper for the invitation to have come from me.’

‘My lord,’ cried Mortimer with mock consternation, ‘but of course it was given in your name.’

‘Without my knowledge! ‘

‘Such a trivial matter seemed far beneath the notice of the King, my lord.’

Mortimer was smiling that rather sly smile. His mother laid a hand on his arm. ‘You have no objection to this banquet, Edward?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Oh no, no. It is merely that ...’

He looked from one to the other. They managed to assume expressions of concern. He was unsure. Oh how he wished he were not fourteen years old. He had the feeling though that Mortimer was laughing at him.

He said quietly: ‘I shall be glad to welcome Sir John and his men to the House of the Friars Minor.’

There was a certain tension in the hall of the House of Friars Minor. In the centre of the table on the dais sat the King and on one side of him was Sir John, on the other his mother. Beside his mother was Roger de Mortimer and men of rank made up the rest of the table.

From the tables in the main body of the hall it soon became obvious that the men of Hainault did not mix with the English. It was almost as though two enemies had met for a banquet rather than two allies, for it was impossible not to be aware of the contemptuous looks they bestowed on each other and Edward heard a few insults flung from one side of the hall to the other.

The Queen did not appear to notice. She was chatting amiably with Mortimer, but Sir John was alert.

He whispered to the King that his men were getting restive. They had been away from home too long.

‘After this campaign,’ he added, ‘they must be disbanded. They need to go home to their families.’

‘We should not be long in Scotland,’ said Edward. ‘They say Robert the Bruce is a sick man.’

‘A sick man,’ agreed Sir John, and added: ‘but a shrewd one. Let us not delude ourselves into thinking this will be an easy victory.’

‘I am determined to win back all that my grandfather won.’

‘Yes, my lord, you will be another such as he was. It was a pity so much won with blood and toil should have been so quickly lost.’

It was another reproach to his father, Edward knew; and he was not displeased because it was a further justification of what had happened. It was good that he was the King. He was going to be all that his grandfather had been ... and perhaps ... Yes, it was a dream of his that he might even surpass him.

At that moment two men who were playing dice at one of the tables stood up and faced each other. Suddenly a stool went flying through the air. It hit one of the men and he fell. That was the signal. For a few seconds Edward watched dismayed. Sir John, the Queen and Mortimer were equally and silently disturbed.

Mortimer cried out in a loud voice: ‘Stop that. By God, any man who brings his quarrels before the King condemns himself as a traitor.’

That should have sobered them. The traitor’s death of hanging, drawing and quartering was the most dreaded end which could befall any man. But it had no effect on these men. In a matter of seconds the quarrel between two men had become a general brawl and the hall was quickly becoming a battle field.

Edward rose to his feet and shouted: ‘Order! In the name of the King ...’

But his voice was lost. They did not hear it and even if they had he knew that they would have ignored him.

He felt frustrated and angry. A moment before he had seen himself as a triumphant king whose word was law. How different was the reality. He was only a young boy who shouted in vain and whose voice could not even be heard above the cries of battle.

It was Sir John and Mortimer who strode into the crowd. Edward would have followed them but his mother held him back.

‘Release me, my lady,’ he said authoritatively.

But she clung to him. ‘They are in a dangerous mood, my son, I fear.’

He wrenched himself free and ran into the main part of the hall shouting: ‘Desist. Desist I say. The King commands it.’

But it was Mortimer and Sir John who called order by shouting to their men to rally to them and stop their senseless fighting. It was some five minutes before there was quiet in the hall.

Then it was possible to see that in the sudden brief battle several men had been killed and many wounded.

Sir John cried out: ‘Shame. You have come to fight the Scots not each other.’

His words were greeted with silence but the sullen looks of the Hainaulters and the truculent ones of the English as they surveyed each other showed that they were by no means penitent, nor were they ready to tolerate each other.

The King standing there felt young and inadequate. He had been unable to call a halt to the fighting and these men had dared to let it happen in his presence.

They would never have dared to do that before his grandfather.

And nor shall they before me again, he promised himself. How tragic it was to be a king and but fourteen.

The uneasy tension between the allies persisted.

Sir John talked a great deal to the young King and Edward listened. The affray had taught him that he had more to learn of warfare than he had realized. He was determined to be a great soldier; therefore he must learn all he could; he must forget he was a king and become a pupil; and he must never be too proud to listen. Sir John was a seasoned warrior. He had much to impart.

‘The trouble with these men is that they have no heart for the fight,’ he explained. ‘They are not fighting in their own land. Men fighting in their land or for a cause in which they believe fight like lions. It is never the same fighting other people’s battles. They fought in England because they were fighting for a beautiful lady whose husband had been cruel to her. So they fought well. Men want a motive if they are to fight.’

‘The motive of many is to loot and ravage.’

“Tis true, lord King. But such a reason does not bring out heroic deeds. Those men seek an advantage and they will retreat if it is expedient for them to do so. No, my men must go home after this campaign. I have talked with them and I have promised that they shall do this. I said: “Make it a speedy campaign, my friends, and then it will be home.” ‘

‘And you think they will fight for that?’

‘I do, my lord. This I am sure. Within a few weeks from now we shall have the Scots begging for mercy. Then will follow your fine treaty. Peace with the Scots for you and home for John of Hainault and his army.’

Yes, it was more pleasant talking with Sir John than with Roger de Mortimer. Sir John instructed in a most respectful way. There was something about Mortimer’s manner which the King disliked and distrusted.

A few days after the fight in the hall messengers came from the North.

The Scots had crossed the Tyne and were advancing, ravaging the countryside as they passed through it.

‘It is time I met Robert the Bruce,’ said Edward.

And he with Sir John rode out from York with their armies, leaving behind the Queen and Mortimer with the royal children.

‘You will soon be back ... victorious,’ said the Queen as she bade her son farewell.

Edward noticed Mortimer standing by watching sardonically. Afterwards Edward thought it was almost as though he had foreknowledge of what was to come.

It was true that Robert the Bruce was a very sick man. The dreaded disease of leprosy was advancing rapidly and he knew that death could not be far off. It was for this reason that he was particularly anxious to make a lasting peace with England. His son David was little more than a baby and he dreaded what would happen to the child, heir to Scotland, when he was left, as he soon surely would be.

Bruce’s illness was the result of never sparing himself during a life of hardship. He had lived in damp and draughty camps, and had suffered all the hazards of fighting.

By good fortune there were Scotsmen who were as eager to force the English out of the country as he was and with them he discussed the methods he wished to use against the enemy. The men he trusted most were Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and Sir James Douglas.

Moray, being the son of his sister Isabel, was his nephew. He had played a prominent part at Bannockburn and had always been his uncle’s faithful adherent. Douglas had been knighted on the field of Bannockburn and had also proved himself a strong supporter of the Bruce. He was a bold man and fierce fighter and a legend had grown up about him in the north of England. Mothers told naughty children that if they were not good the Black Douglas would get them. He was a flamboyant character, constantly calling attention to himself by some daring deed, and his dark eyes and skin had earned for him the name of Black Douglas which suited his reputation.

It distressed Robert greatly that he was unable to join his army. He was torn between the desire to make the effort and be there to conduct matters perhaps from a camp behind the army, and the fear that his emaciated appearance might undermine the spirit of his soldiers. It was due to his endeavours that the Scots had driven the English out of Scotland with the magnificent climax at Bannockburn but Bruce was not the man to deceive himself and he knew that the victory had a good deal to do with the fact that Edward the First had died and his ineffectual son had taken his place.

Now he discussed with his two most trusted supporters the plan of action against the English.

‘What I want to avoid if it is possible,’ said Bruce, ‘is direct confrontation.’

‘We’d beat them then as we did at Bannockburn,’ replied Douglas.

‘Perhaps so, James, and perhaps not. It would mean that Scottish blood would be shed and I do not want that if it can be avoided. The advantage is with us. The English came laden with supplies and our men have learned to travel light.’

‘Aye,’ added Moray. ‘A bag of oatmeal and an iron plate to bake it on. That and the cattle we can steal on the way keeps the men well fed.’

‘Tis so,’ said Bruce, ‘and there I stress lies our advantage. My plan is that the English shall not come face to face with our army until we have lured them to that spot where a battle will take place if it cannot be avoided.’

‘You mean retreat before them.’

‘Not retreat,’ answered Bruce. ‘I like not that word. We shall leave England with them advancing towards us and as we pass through the English towns and villages we shall take their cattle and lay waste to the land. We shall be elusive. They will never catch up with us. And they will grow weary and exhausted trying to. Our plan should really be to bring about a peace treaty, which will free us from English domination for ever.’

Black Douglas was a little disappointed. He was hoping for another Bannockburn but like Moray he saw the wisdom of the King’s remarks. If Scotland was to prosper it needed peace. War might be exciting to such men as Douglas but it was also destructive. Advantageous peace was what the country needed.

‘The King of England has two sisters,’ went on Bruce. ‘They are about the age of my young David. You see what I am leading to. There is nothing like an alliance between countries to bring about a peace.’

Both Moray and Douglas acceded that this was true.

Plans were laid and thus when Edward with Sir John and their armies marched north in pursuit of the Scots they found evidence of them but they could not catch up with them.

They crossed the Tyne. Everywhere were ravaged villages but no Scots. The weather was bad; violent storms raged; the men grew restive and there was sickness in the camp.

If we could catch up with the Scots and there was a real battle you would see a change in the men,’ said Sir John to the King. ‘This state of affairs has a debilitating effect on them.’

Edward said: ‘It shows that the Scots are afraid of us.’

Sir John shook his head. ‘I believe that Robert the Bruce plays a game with us.’

‘He is a sick man. He is not with his army.’

‘He directs operations, my lord. You can depend on that, and he is a man not easy to beat whether he be on horseback or a sick couch.’

Edward was discovering that war was not the glorious adventure he had envisaged. He had thought it rather like a tournament, a kind of joust à l’outrance when the opponents fought to the bitter end. He had visualized glittering armour, lances shimmering in the sun, great deeds of bravery. Instead of this he found sickness, torrential rain, flies, draughty camps and the frustrating habits of the Scots who mockingly were leading them along this exhausting path.

One day a man was brought to Edward’s camp by Sir John of Hainault. The man had a story to tell. His name was Rokeby and he had been taken prisoner by the Scots and had consequently spent some time with them.

‘As soon as I escaped I made my way straight to your camp, my lord,’ said Rokeby. ‘I can tell you exactly where you will find the Scots army.’

‘Then,’ cried Edward, ‘we will find them. We will invite them to do battle. Then we shall have our revenge.’

He knighted Rokeby on the spot and as the man knelt to receive the accolade he laughed to himself. Edward was such a child really. He was easily deceived. He would tell Black Douglas that it hardly seemed fair, like cheating a baby.

Douglas would laugh. It had been his idea that Rokeby should bring the English army to the banks of the River Wear, for Douglas said he would have some sport with them.

In due course the army camp was set up on the banks of the River Wear in the county of Durham and true enough on the other side of the river the Scots were encamped.

‘Now,’ said Edward, ‘we shall come to battle and I doubt not the day will be ours.’

‘We should think of some way of surprising them,’ replied Sir John.

‘Nay,’ cried Edward. ‘I will fight with honour. They are on one side of the river, we on the other. I shall tell them that they must cross to meet us and I should consider it unchivalrous to attack them while they are crossing.’

‘My lord king,’ said Sir John with mild exasperation, ‘this is war.’

‘I intend to conduct war in an honourable way,’ replied Edward. ‘I will tell them that if they prefer us to cross the river we will do and the same terms will apply to us as I have offered them.’

Seasoned warrior John of Hainault shrugged his shoulders. He had come to the conclusion that the Scots were not eager to fight and when he considered the condition of his men, nor was he.

Edward waited for a reply from the messenger who had to ford the river to the Scottish camp. At last it came.

‘We are in your kingdom,’ it ran. ‘We have laid waste to your land. If that displeases you, you must come and attack us. We shall remain where we are as long as it pleases us.’

What were they to do?

Edward said they must in honour now cross the river but Sir John shook his head wearily. ‘The men are exhausted,’ he explained. ‘Supplies are running out. Our men do not travel with a bag of oatmeal and a griddle.’

‘Then we must act quickly,’ retorted Edward.

Edward had his way and they made plans to cross the river the following day. Through the night Edward lay sleepless. Across the water the light from the Scottish camp fires flickered in the darkness.

‘In the morning we shall strike,’ thought Edward, ‘and victory will be ours. I shall return to my Court and people will no longer smile at my youth and inexperience. They will know that I am not merely a figurehead. I am a true king. I shall cease merely to reign and shall rule.’

But in the morning before he had risen Sir John burst into his tent.

‘Come and look,’ he said.

Edward followed him out. On the opposite side of the river the Scottish camp fires still smouldered but the army had gone.

Again there were spies to tell them where. The Scots were still embanked on the same river but this time in a spot more advantageous to them. It was in a wood known as Stanhope Park, a hunting ground which belonged to the Bishop of Durham.

‘The river,’ said Sir John, ‘is easier to ford here.’

‘Then that is why they have moved,’ cried Edward. ‘Now we must prepare for battle in earnest.’

All through that day the preparations went on and by night time Edward was very tired. The end was nearly in sight he was sure, and as he lay in his tent he thought of returning to London. His first act would be to send for his ministers and tell them that he would not delay his marriage any longer. An agreement had been made with the Count of Hainault that he should marry one of his daughters. Well, he wanted that marriage to take place without delay. They would be pleased. They had always said that a king could not begin to get heirs too soon. It was a pleasant thought. He had discovered already that he was fond of the society of women and he had thought a great deal about Philippa who had clearly considered him to be wonderful. What a pretty girl she was, and she was charming and simple. In fact she was just the wife for him.

He drifted into pleasant sleep thinking of her.

He awakened with a start. There was uproar in the camp. He heard the horses whinnying, sudden shouts, running footsteps.

Then there was a cry of ‘A Douglas! A Douglas!’ and as Edward leaped to his feet he saw that his tent had started to collapse which meant that someone had cut the ropes. He ran out and as he did so he was aware of a dark-skinned man laughing at him.

One of his guards leaped forward.

‘Run, my lord. Run, my lord,’ he cried before he fell to the ground with a sword through his body.

Edward acted quickly. He knew what had happened. They had been outwitted by the Scots. Black Douglas had dared come to his tent perhaps to kill him or take him prisoner. The King of England a hostage! He had to run. It was ignoble. It did not fit in with his ideas of kingly actions; but he was unarmed and Black Douglas was waiting to catch him.

Sir John was shouting orders. The English had risen and the small party of Scots led by Black Douglas, which had invaded the English camp made its escape.

Consternation ensued. How had it happened? The watch had been careless. The King might have been killed or taken prisoner.

It seemed that the Scots got the better of them every time. ‘This is the last though,’ cried Edward. ‘Tomorrow we attack.’

Sir John said they would need a day to reorganize. The raid had taken them by surprise and when they did attack the Scots they must be prepared in every way. There must be victory.

Smarting with humiliation, Edward was for immediate action.

He need not have worried. At daybreak it was clear that the Scots had decamped once more. There would be another journey to catch up with them. The Scots had fleet horses. They lacked the beauty of those of the English but they could move a great deal faster unencumbered as they were. Moreover wherever the English went there must go their supplies—saddle horses and wagons were very different from a griddle and a bag of oatmeal. It made progress slow.

News came that the Scots had crossed the Border. Edward know he could never catch up with them. His men were exhausted, his supplies were running out and there were more quarrels between the English and the Hainaulters. It was a pointless depressing and humiliating experience.

Word came from Robert the Bruce. He would be ready to discuss terms for peace and he hinted at uniting the two countries through marriage. Edward had sisters; he had a son. Peace was often brought about more effectively through unions than battles.

Let there be meetings. Let these matters be discussed. And in the meantime let there be an end to hostilities.

Edward saw that they were right.

In the midst of this a messenger came to him with news from his mother.

His father had died peacefully in Berkeley Castle.

Well, perhaps it was God’s will. Poor Edward the Second. his had been a life of failure. Perhaps he was at peace at last. It was a pity that he had not been with him at the end. He would have liked to hear him say again that he thought his son was right in taking the crown.

But he died at peace and it was for the best. Young Edward need no longer suffer the qualms of conscience. He was now truly the King.

But he must return to York where his mother would be waiting for him.

How different it would have been if he had come back a triumphant hero, if he had won a battle which would have been like Bannockburn in reverse.

‘Edward vindicates the English in Scotland,’ he could hear them saying. ‘It is his grandfather all over again.’

One day he would show them. But they would not always be comparing him with his grandfather. They should talk of Great Edward the Third as well as the First of that name.

In the meantime the Scots had outwitted him and he must return to his Court chastened but with a valuable lesson learned. War was not a tournament in which easy honours were won. It was a matter of life and death, of tricks and strategy, of discomforts and bloodshed.

He would remember that and it would stand him in good stead.

As he travelled south to York Edward’s mood lightened a little. At least he had not been defeated in battle as his father had. His mission had failed but that was because the Scots refused to fight. He tried to work out what he should have done and he could see that all that had been possible was to seek the enemy. True he was returning with nothing achieved; and when he thought of how it might have ended if the Black Douglas had succeeded in capturing him, he was filled with dismay.

But he was returning to York and the Scots had agreed to consider a treaty. True his army was not in the same form as it had been when it had set out, and the Hainaulters had forcefully intimated that there would be no more fighting for them. The next thing was to make an advantageous treaty and ... what he wanted more than anything ... to marry Philippa.

His family was waiting for him at York and with them like a shadow, Roger de Mortimer.

The King frowned. He knew very well that it was no use refusing to think of Mortimer and why his mother was so determined to keep the man at his side. Edward shut his ears to gossip and of course none would dare cast a slur on his mother in his hearing.

The Queen embraced him. She told him fervently that she was delighted to see him safely back.

Mortimer bowed and Edward was certain that he detected a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

‘How well you look, my lord,’ he said. ‘Why, there is no sign of battle scars.’

‘The dastardly Scots,’ put in the Queen. ‘Who would have believed they would refuse to fight ‘

Edward said: ‘The news of my father’s death saddened me.’ ‘As it did us all,’ replied the Queen.

‘It was a peaceful passing,’ put in Mortimer, ‘and it has been said by those near him that the late King had longed for peace.’

The young King frowned. ‘I would I had seen him at the end.’

His mother put her arm through his and lifted her face. ‘My son,’ she said, ‘so do we all. But we must content ourselves with the knowledge that he is now at rest.’

Edward turned to his brother and sisters, who were regarding him with awe. He was not just their brother now. He was their King.

‘Well, brother John, how fares it with you?’

John smiled and said it fared well with him as it did he hoped with his lord the King.

‘Brother Edward to you, John.’ Edward knelt down and took both little girls in his arms. How pretty they were with their wondering eyes and their smooth pink skins which reminded him of Philippa’s.

Eleanor the elder of the two little girls said: ‘They are making a banquet because you have come.’

‘Is that so?’ replied Edward. ‘Then I must do justice to it, must I not?’

Six-year-old Joanna’s eyes filled with tears suddenly. ‘We have no father now,’ she said.

The tears had started to spill from Joanna’s eyes and both Eleanor and John were on the point of weeping. They remembered their father vaguely—a kindly man, who was gentle and quiet. They had not been afraid of him at all as they were of their mother.

‘Now,’ said the Queen, ‘you must remember that your brother is now the King. You are not in the nursery you know.’

The sharpness of her voice sobered the children except Joanna who was unable to curb her tears.

‘Take your sister away,’ said the Queen. ‘I am ashamed that you should so behave before the King.’

But Edward held them tightly to him. ‘It is natural to mourn,’ he said. ‘I mourn with you. But, my little sisters, I am your guardian now. I am your King and your brother and I shall see that nothing harms you.’

Joanna threw her arms about his neck and again he was reminded of Philippa.

‘Take your sisters away, John,’ said the Queen authoritatively and when Edward released them they went.

‘Poor fatherless children! ‘ said Edward. ‘They are aware of their loss.’

‘My dear Edward, they saw so little of him. He had no time to spare for them.’

‘He was kind to them when he did see them.’

‘We know your father’s failings. Let us not make a saint of him simply because he has departed.’

There was a sharpness to his mother’s voice. It is her grief, I suppose, thought Edward. Perhaps she regrets their difference and herself wishes there had been time for reconciliation.

‘You will wish to go to your apartments,’ she said. ‘You will

be weary from the journey and I shall take you there now.’ Edward nodded. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said. ‘Just you.’

The words were addressed pointedly in the direction of

Mortimer, who bowed and stood back.

When they were alone the King said : ‘I wish to know how my father died.’

It was as I told you. He died peacefully ... in the night. He went to bed as usual and the next morning they went in and found him ... dead.’

‘My poor father, his was an unhappy life.’

‘He knew himself to be a failure, Edward, as he was. It is no use pretending it was different now.’

‘I know he was not like his father.’

The Queen’s laugh had a note of hysteria in it. ‘My dear, I understand your emotion. You feel sad about your father now that he is dead. Your grandfather was a great man. It was Edward’s tragedy that he followed such a one. Had he come after ... say John ... his faults would not have been obvious. But he came after the Great Edward and he was a man of strange tastes. He is dead. Let him rest in peace.’

She put her hand on his arm and looked appealingly at him. ‘Dear lady,’ he said, ‘you are right, of course.’

‘You and I have worked together, Edward. I brought you to England. I made you a King.’

‘Yes, my lady, but I was naturally one when my father died.’

‘I made you one before your father died and because he was your father that made you uneasy. You must not be. Think of the wishes of the people. They did not want your father. They want you to rule them. Come, let us forget the past. Let us look forward to the future.’

‘Let us do that. I am determined to marry without delay.’

A dazzling smile crossed her face and he sensed her immense relief.

‘It is natural that you should.’

‘You made an agreement with the Count of Hainault.’

‘It was necessary that I did. Without that agreement I could never have raised the army which brought us back to England.’

‘I am glad you made it. I felt a great affection for Philippa.’ The Queen laughed with excessive gaiety.

‘It was a little noticeable,’ she said. ‘I shall never forget how the child burst into tears when she had to say good-bye.’ ‘She is charming,’ cried Edward. ‘So fresh, so natural.’

‘Then why should not the marriage take place without delay?’

‘That is what I think.’

She slipped her arm through his and walked to the window. ‘The agreement,’ she told him, ‘was for one of the Count’s daughters.’

‘I shall have Philippa--no other.’

‘Indeed you shall have Philippa but it has occurred to me that the Count may want his eldest daughter off his hands first. It is a custom. Margaret is the eldest.’

‘I tell you I will have Philippa.’

‘Pray do not grow so fierce. I will tell you what we shall do. We shall send our embassy to Hainault and we shall give instructions that the leader of it shall choose the most suitable of the four girls.’

‘What if he does not choose Philippa?’

‘He will because we shall tell him in advance that he must choose her.’

Edward laughed. ‘That sounds a good project,’ he said.

‘Well then, we will set it in motion without delay. I’ll send for Adam of Orlton. He is the man. He is with us now. He has always served us well. He is shrewd and clever. He will do exactly what is needed. I will send him to you. There is no reason why he should not set out at once.’

The King left his mother and immediately sent for Adam of Orlton.

Meanwhile the Queen had returned to Mortimer.

‘Our lord the King has become somewhat imperious since his somewhat ignoble adventures in the North,’ commented Mortimer. ‘He clearly dismissed me.’

‘You must not take that to heart, my love. He talked of his father. He broods on it, I believe. I had difficulty in getting him away from the subject.’

‘He will hear no rumours.’

‘None would dare. They know it would be most unwise. I have stressed that Edward is at peace now. I keep telling him that. He has no suspicions. He is in love with Philippa of Hainault and this occupies his mind, which is fortunate. He wants to marry without delay.’

‘We must not stop him. Let his mind dwell on his marriage- couch rather than on the deathbed of his father.’

‘So we will marry him without delay. Nothing should occupy him more exclusively than his little Philippa.’

‘She will suit our young man very well,’ said Mortimer.

‘You thought her attractive?’

‘Dazzled by the incomparable beauty of my Queen I scarcely saw her. She is a typical Fleming, I did vaguely observe. Plump already. She will incline to weightiness, you will see. But she is fresh enough and right I would say for the boy. She will be a good breeder, I doubt not.’

‘I hope that he will not continue to talk of his father,’ said the Queen with a shudder.

Mortimer put an arm about her. ‘Ah, my love, you must stop brooding. Let us bring Philippa over. Let us have a royal wedding ... babies. Can you believe it, sweetheart, you will be a grandmother.’

‘I like not the sound of that.’

‘The most beautiful and youthful grandmother the world has ever known.’

Adam of Orlton Bishop of Hereford stood before the King.

This was a man who had been the enemy of the late King and had served the Queen well. Shrewd, calculating and determined to go far in his profession, he had quickly realized that Edward the Second would in time become intolerable to the people of England and for that reason he had thrown in his lot with the Queen. He it was who had been largely responsible for Mortimer’s escape from the Tower for, if the Queen had not been able to enlist his help and through him the two London merchants who supplied the boat and horses, the adventure would have failed.

As soon as the Queen had come to London with her army he had presented himself and had worked with her and Mortimer ever since.

Edward knew him as a faithful servant.

He now bowed before the King and Edward said : ‘Pray be seated.’ He felt a little awkward that such a venerable man should stand ... while he sat. He would have to overcome such feelings. As usual he wished that he could grow up more quickly.

‘My lord Bishop,’ said the King, ‘I wish you to leave at once for the Court of the Count of Hainault. As you know he has four young daughters and I have decided to marry one of these.’

‘I will set off immediately, my lord,’ the Bishop assured him.

‘Pray present yourself to the Count and tell him of your mission. He will receive you with pleasure. He is eager for the marriage.’

‘As he must be,’ replied the Bishop. ‘He has four daughters. Naturally your bride should be the eldest.’

‘No, my lord. No! I have already met the future Queen of England and she is not Margaret the eldest but Philippa, the second daughter.’

‘I see, my lord.’

‘So when you are asked to choose the most suitable you will know which one to choose.’

‘I shall choose Philippa, my lord.’

‘And see that the rest of the embassy approves your choice.’ ‘I shall do that.’

‘I knew I could rely on you, Adam.’

The Bishop smiled. ‘I see it would bode ill for me if I returned with news of your betrothal to the wrong lady.’ ‘It could cost you your head, Bishop.’

The King spoke jocularly but the Bishop felt a shiver of uneasiness pass through him. One could never be sure with these Plantagenets. The temper which had come through the line from Henry the Second was notorious.

‘Rest assured, my lord. I shall keep it. It is too valuable an acquisition to be lightly cast aside. A matter has occurred to me, however, which no doubt you are aware of, my lord. There is a close relationship between you and the Lady Philippa.’

The King shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘Kings have so many relations among noble houses,’ he said.

‘That is so, my lord, but this is close. You and the lady both have the same great grandfather in Philip the Third of France.’

‘Well ?’ demanded Edward.

‘I think it would be advisable for me to prepare for a mission to Avignon after I have settled matters in Hainault. I cannot believe the Pope will raise any objection to the dispensation.’ ‘I shall ignore him if he does.’

The Bishop bowed his head. ‘That, my lord, I am sure will not be necessary. I shall set off at once for Hainault and my business completed there leave at once for Avignon.’

The King nodded, confident that soon Philippa would be with him.