The Vow on the Heron

THE LADY OF THE SUN AND THE OLD MAN

WITH the death of Philippa the influence of Alice Perrers over the King began to increase. His conscience no longer worried him and he became more and more besotted. He was never parted from her; he became her slave; she only had to express a wish and he wanted to grant it. It was said of her that she was very skilled in the ways of love and that this gave her special powers over an ageing man who had kept his passions in check until this time.

Alice was greedy for riches. She loved jewels and could never have enough of them; moreover she was shrewd and in view of the King’s age she knew her reign could not be of long duration; therefore she was determined to make the most of it while it lasted.

She sought about for means of making herself the richest woman in the country. There were plenty of tricks she could play. Edward was ready to bestow lands on her and these she accepted eagerly, but it was not enough for her rapacious needs. She made use of the custom of guardianship which meant that when rich parents died leaving heirs under age some member of the Court took charge of them. To be allotted a rich heir was a great concession, for a good income from the estate came with the heir. Alice had already three boys under her care, as it was said, which was very lucrative.

It was amusing that she who had been a woman of no importance should have become the most important in the land. She grew bolder and bolder as she became more and more sure of her power and even joined the King during council meetings and sat beside him giving advice to which he listened with something like awe; she had formed a habit of going to Westminster Hall and taking her place beside the judge that she might tell him what verdict to give. And that verdict would depend on whether the accused had rewarded her in a manner she considered suitable to bring about his acquittal.

She was seen wearing the late Queen’s jewels when she sat with the King at banquets. She had a passion for jewels and her gowns were ablaze with them, and the fur trimming on each gown was a fortune in itself. Edward could not have chosen a woman more unlike Philippa and just as the people had loved their Queen, their feeling for the woman they called The Harlot carried the same intensity but in the opposite direction.

Alice Perrers’ name was spoken with venom in the streets of London and she was notorious throughout the country.

The death of Philippa had undoubtedly brought a great change to the country. She and Edward had stood as pillars of strength and virtue. Edward could scarcely be called that now. Instead of the great warrior the upright noble knight he had been, he had become a doddering old man who could not keep his hands—even in public—from caressing a brazen strumpet. Deeply the people mourned the passing of the Queen. When she had been alive they had been aware of her virtue but they had failed to recognize her strength.

Yes there was change. Once it had seemed that the war with France was coming to a victorious end when the King of France had been made captive and honourable peace terms had been arranged.

The Black Prince—idol of the people—had scored successes on the Continent where he had remained with his devoted wife; he had two sons, Edward and Richard, and everything had seemed set fair for prosperity.

Then came disturbing news. The Black Prince was suffering from ill health. He was attacked by intermittent fever which often meant that he must take to his bed for long periods.

Moreover a fresh wave of patriotism had come to France. King Jean was dead and his son Charles had come to the throne. He was determined to win back what had been lost in his father’s day and Frenchmen were remembering to whom they owed allegiance. The Black Prince realizing what was happening was forced to send for reinforcements. There were attacks on Aquitaine which he managed to defend but while he was engaged in that quarter trouble was breaking out elsewhere.

Joan would have been completely happy had it not been for the constant absences of her husband and the fact that she was worried about his health. Her eldest son Edward on whom her husband doted, had been in poor health too. Joan longed to return to England and Court life there. If she could only do that and her husband be restored to health she would be content. But she began to see that one of these wishes if granted would mean that the other could not be for he could only return to England if his health failed and if he were well and strong he would be forced to stay in France.

She was too realistic to hope for complete contentment. She loved the Black Prince devotedly. He was the national hero; the most chivalrous knight in the world and he was the heir to a throne. He would make her a Queen and the mother of a King. She felt that the hideous murder of her father was vindicated.

But the anxiety about the Black Prince’s health continued; and when he heard that his greatest friend John Chandos had been killed he was plunged into melancholy which brought on another bout of the fever.

Joan herself nursed him and when he had recovered a little broached the subject of their return to England.

‘It is no use going on in this way,’ she said. ‘These attacks are becoming more and more frequent. Someone else must take over your duties.’

‘Who?’ asked the Prince.

‘The most likely seems your brother, John of Gaunt.’

‘A very ambitious man, my brother John.’

‘All sons of kings are ambitious, particularly younger ones.’

‘John is the cleverest of them all.’

‘And if he came to take your place he would take credit for all your victories, I doubt not,’ said Joan tartly. ‘Even so your health is more important to me than your glory.’

The Prince smiled at her fierceness. ‘You have been a good wife to me, Joan,’ he said.

She kissed him lightly. ‘There was much time to be made up,’ she answered lightly. ‘You shillied and shallied and could not be brought to marry me until I forced you to it.’

He agreed it was so.

‘Then you see,’ she told him, ‘I am able to manage our affairs far better than you can.’

He was too tired to argue; he could feel the fever rising within him.

These wretched wars! thought Joan. What a curse they were! She remembered Philippa’s attitude to them and how right she was. The difference in them was that Philippa would have kept her irritation with them to herself. Joan was not like that.

The affair at Limoges had upset Edward more than he would admit. It was a mistake, Joan knew, to become involved in the Castilian war. Pedro was hated by his subjects; many said he had no right to the throne which he had taken from his elder brother’s son, Charles de la Cerda. His half-brother Henry of Trastamara who was the illegitimate son of Pedro’s father and his mistress Eleanor de Guzman now sought to take the crown and when Pedro had sent appeals to the Black Prince he had answered them.

A great mistake, reiterated Joan. It had given the French the chance they needed.

And now with the death of the much loved Chandos and the fever returning ... it was time there was change.

Joan sent for the doctors and questioned them.

What were these fevers from which her husband suffered and would they increase as time passed?

The answer was that the disease had been contracted through the Prince’s way of life—camping in damp places and foreign countries; and the nature of the disease was that it must inevitably grow worse as time passed.

‘I want you to insist that he returns to England,’ said Joan firmly.

The doctors agreed with her that a rest away from camps and long days in the saddle would be beneficial to the Prince.

Brought low by fever, mourning the death of his friend Chandos, realizing that his victories in France were slipping from English hands, he allowed Joan to make the arrangements for their departure.

He knew he was very sick. He had nightmares and the siege of Limoges figured largely in these. The town had been in English hands and had been treacherously given to the French by Jean de Cros, the Bishop of Limoges, whom he had counted his friend. What a rage he had been in then! Unable to mount his horse he was carried on a litter. He had sworn that he would take Limoges and woe betide the betrayer when he did.

Nor had he spared himself though the fever almost maddened him. The town was taken and the carnage was terrible. He himself ordered that it should be so. There should be no mercy, he had declared. Every living thing should be slaughtered. He had ridden through the town in a heavy four-wheeled cart because he was too ill to sit a horse. There was blood everywhere, corpses in heaps in every street; hot with fever he surveyed the slaughter. He felt defeated by circumstances which were too overwhelming to control.

The defaulting Bishop who had surrendered the town to the French was dragged before him. ‘I’ll have his head,’ he cried.

It was his brother, John of Gaunt, who begged him to consider that the Bishop was a man of the Church. True he had given the town to the French but it could have been to save slaughter. Edward must remember that the Church would be displeased and they could not afford to offend the Church.

By this time the Prince’s anger was spent. The hot blood which sent him crazy with the need for blood-letting had passed; he was shivering with the ague and longed for the quiet of his bed.

‘Take the Bishop,’ he said to his brother. ‘Do what you will.’

And he was carried back to Joan.

Do what you will. Yes, John would do what he would. John was an ambitious man who bitterly resented not having been born the eldest.

But I have two sons, mused the Prince. My little Edward to follow me and if aught should befall him there is also Richard.

So back to the peace of his home where he must continue to dream of Limoges—a blot on his shield of glory. He had once been a great Prince who did not need to resort to the killing of women and babies to prove his strength.

Joan and the doctors said: ‘You must go to England. You must rest awhile.’

At first he protested but he knew they were right. A warrior did not go into battle in a litter; he did not ride through a captured city in a four-wheeled cart.

So the preparations went on. As soon as this bout had subsided they would set out.

One morning just as the loading of the ships was nearing completion, Joan came to him in a state of great consternation. Young Edward was ill.

The doctors were not sure what ailed him but they were deeply concerned about the child’s condition.

It proved to be not without cause. Within a few days little Edward was dead.

This was the greatest blow of all.

Limoges, the rising of French power, the loss of that of England, the death of Chandos ... and now little Edward.

Joan was overcome by grief. This young Edward had been her pride; she had looked far ahead into the distant future and seen him mounting a throne. A long long time yet she had promised herself, but it would be one day.

And now ... he was gone.

But she was a woman of energetic ambition. She had after a long wait achieved marriage with the Prince of Wales. She had lost their beloved son. But there could be more, she promised herself. They already had little Richard. He was not quite four years old, a tall fair-haired boy with the Plantagenet looks.

The little boy known as Richard of Bordeaux because of his birthplace was now in direct line to the throne.

How changed was the Court. How everyone missed the presence of Queen Philippa which they had not noticed while she had been there.

In her place ruled the brazen hussy, sitting in the Queen’s chair, wearing the Queen’s jewels, wrapped in the royal mantle ,edged with ermine and supported in this by the King.

And most changed of all the King himself. No longer alert, no longer concerned with his country’s welfare, wanting only the comfort his strumpet could offer and letting everyone know it.

The Prince took in the situation at once. The King had changed. His mind had weakened; he had suffered some illness. This could not be the great commanding figure who had guided the country for more than thirty years.

The King received his son warmly, condoled with him on the death of young Edward and received his grandson Richard with affection.

But there was an absent-mindedness about him; and the Black Prince refused to meet Alice Perrers.

It soon became clear that if he persisted in this attitude he would not be welcome at Court.

He took the first opportunity of speaking to his sister Isabella who had been closer to the King than any of them.

Isabella was bewildered. It was no use trying to make their father see what he was doing. He was completely bewitched by the woman.

‘All through my life I have only had to ask to see him and I was allowed to,’ she explained. ‘But if that woman says I should not come to him, I am not allowed to.’

‘It must pass,’ said the Prince.

‘There is no sign of it. She grows more and more outrageous but still he keeps her with him. He cares only for her. I believe he is growing feeble-minded.’

‘It would seem so,’ said the Prince. ‘I shall not stay here nor will Joan to be treated thus by a woman of that kind. You will return to France doubtless.’

Isabella was silent. Those about her often said that she had become a changed woman since her marriage. The imperious Princess had strangely become a somewhat meek wife. The fact was that her youthful husband was less enamoured of her than she was of him, and he was quite content to leave her in England while he went to France. He was reluctant to take up arms against the French King and on the other hand he could scarcely do so against his father and brothers-in-law. The handsome Lord de Coucy was less pleased with his marriage than he had first thought he would be. The tragedy for Isabella was that each day she grew more and more in love with her husband.

This had had the effect of subduing her and of bringing a certain humility into her nature which had never been there before. She was devoted to her daughters and now that her father was less determined to please her she was discovering a greater affection for him than it had seemed she could be capable of.

‘It grieves me,’ she told her brother, ‘to see him thus. There have been times when I have thought of leaving the Court but somehow I feel I must stay. He needs one of us with him and I am the only daughter left and was always his favourite. No, Edward, I shall stay here at Court and I have even gone so far as to make myself agreeable to Alice Perrers. I cannot tell you what joy that gives our father. Moreover it gives me an opportunity to keep my eye on him—and help him escape from the enchantment ... bewitchment or whatever it is.’

Edward was surprised that Isabella could become unselfish but he was too ill to concern himself with anything but his own needs. Moreover Joan was at hand to hurry him off to their home in Berkhamstead and there she set about nursing him and comforting him for the terrible losses he had sustained on the deaths of Chandos and young Edward.

The reign of Alice Perrers showed no sign of coming to an end. The King grew more and more besotted. Alice had given birth to a little girl whom she called Jane and although the hatred of the people was intensified with the passing of the time, she kept a firm hold on her power.

Edward gave great jousts in her honour and at these she would sit beside him far more sumptuously gowned than Philippa had ever been.

The King was showing his age and many people thought that his end was near. Until the death of Philippa he had looked younger than he actually was and had had more vigour than men half his age, but the life he was living with Alice was beginning to show its effects. Alice herself wondered how long it could last for her.

If he died that would be the end of her glory and as she remarked to a certain somewhat impoverished knight who had taken her fancy: A woman must take care of the future.

Alice was doing that very well. As soon as her eyes alighted on a jewel she had the urge to make it hers. She took great delight in finding new ways of enriching herself and she was doing very well. But she had to think of the future.

The man on whom her fancy had fixed itself was William de Windsor. He was not of high noble birth nor was he possessed of great wealth; but could she have expected some noble knight to marry her? Of course she could not. Her marriage would have to be secret for if it were known that she were married she would immediately be accused of adultery—and so would the King. They would have the meddling prelates talking of excommunicating them—and that was something even drooling old Edward would have to take seriously.

William de Windsor was nothing loth. He saw a far more brilliant future with Alice than he could hope for without her. Besides she was a woman of wide sexual knowledge which promised to bring some excitement into his colourless life.

So they were married ... in the utmost secrecy and when Alice gave birth to another daughter it was easy to pass young Joan off as the King’s.

It was an amusing life and riches flowed into Alice’s pockets.

The King’s devotion did not diminish and the older he grew the more he was her slave.

He would give a great joust at Smithfield in her honour. She should be the Lady of the Sun. She would be there as a Queen and all should do honour to her. She would ride from the Tower of London to Cheapside and her garments would come from the royal wardrobes.

It was a great day for Alice. There she rode at the head of the cavalcade in a russet and white gown edged with ermine and decorated with gold thread. From under her leather cap her beautiful dark hair flowed about her shoulders; her great dark eyes bright with excitement beamed on the crowd who could only stare in wonder and awe at this low-born woman who had captured the heart of a great King.

England was in a sorry state and the French took advantage of it. The Black Prince was growing weaker every day. There had been no more children born to him and Joan and the heir to the throne was the young boy Richard of Bordeaux.

John of Gaunt had returned to England and almost all the English conquests in France were now in the hands of the French. The wily John showed friendship to Alice Perrers in order to curry favour with his father and consequently was acting as Regent in the government of the country.

Isabella’s husband had left her in England and showed no signs of returning to her. She was sad and remained at Court although she knew that to keep close to her father she must placate Alice.

Lionel had died in Italy; Edmund and Thomas showed no particular talents; and the great and heroic deeds of the King’s earlier years seemed to have been in vain.

The Black Prince followed events with growing melancholy. Although on his return to England his fever had abated a little the attacks returned and they were becoming more frequent. He was filled with misgiving when he watched his little son Richard. What would become of him? he wondered. How long could the King last? His health was deteriorating rapidly; and what of himself? How long could be continue? He knew that the disease he had contracted would kill him in time. It seemed inevitable that this little Richard would be King before he came of age. John of Gaunt longed for the crown. He was clever and cunning. How would this innocent boy fare against him?

‘Give me strength to live until my son is of age to rule,’ he prayed. ‘Give me time to teach him what he must know.’

In the meantime there was the old King ruled by a loose woman who had no sense of honour and whose one idea was to amass as much wealth as she could. The people were restive. How long would they accept the state of affairs into which the country was falling?

If only the King would be as he once was—strong, just! None could deny that Edward had been one of the greatest kings England had known before this senility had overtaken him. If only Philippa had lived. Ah yes, if only Philippa had lived! If only the Black Prince, hero of Crécy and Poitiers, had his strength.

It was almost impossible to believe how England could have been brought so low through a chain of some unexpected circumstances. The death of the Queen; the domination of Alice Perrers over a King who had slipped from greatness to senility; a fever-stricken Prince of Wales; a scheming John of Gaunt; and an heir to the throne who was little more than a baby.

The Prince had emerged from the fever and was feeling a little better when William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester came to Berkhamstead in some haste and excitement. William of Wykeham had always been a friend of the Black Prince and with him had deplored the way in which England was declining.

He immediately told the Prince the reason for his visit.

‘I think, my lord,’ he said, ‘that we now have what we need to break this association between the King and the strumpet. I have discovered that she is married and therefore commits adultery.’

The Prince was excited. ‘Is this indeed so? Can it be proved? The matter should be laid before the Parliament.’

‘Indeed it shall be, my lord. The woman’s adultery shall be considered and with it the evil practices of bribery and corruption which she has brought about. This gives us an opportunity.’

‘Let us make good use of it,’ replied the Prince.

He felt better. There was a chance. The King would have to give up Alice Perrers. The thought of it made him feel well again. He was going to get up from his bed. He was going to be the strong man again. His father, rid of that woman, would return to his old way of life. Who knew he might have many years before him and after him would come the Black Prince and years and years ahead when Richard was a man taught wisdom by those of experience the crown should be placed on his head and England be prosperous again.

The Parliament assembled. Its members were ready to go against the wishes of their King and the people rejoiced for they, like the Black Prince, believed that this Parliament could bring about a return to the old sane ways. They called the Parliament the Good Parliament. It was supported by their idol the Black Prince and it would work against John of Gaunt whom they disliked and moreover it would bring to light the evil practices of Alice Perrers.

The Parliament lived up to the people’s expectations. Alice was summoned to appear. She was accused of practising nefariously in the courts of law, of meddling in other matters and of having seduced the King through black magic.

Alice displayed an insolence which did her little good and the result was that she was dismissed from Court and threatened with excommunication if she returned.

The King was desolate. A delegation headed by the Bishop of Winchester called on him and told him that Alice had married William de Windsor and therefore he and she were committing adultery.

‘I refuse to believe it,’ he cried in anguish. ‘She has never married anyone.’

They proved that she had recently done so, and he was overcome with grief.

‘She is also guilty of fraud and theft,’ he was told.

‘She has done nothing without my consent.’

‘My lord, even so she is guilty.’

There was not a man present who was not amazed at the state to which this once great King was reduced. A few years ago which one of them would have dared stand before him and tell him what he must do?

Now he listened meekly. He said: ‘I beg of you deal with her gently.’

Great Edward left them and went to his bedchamber and wept.

When the Black Prince heard that Alice was dismissed from Court he was delighted.

He knew that throughout the country people were looking to him. They knew that it was his support and his strength which had given the Good Parliament the courage to defy the King and send Alice from Court. But what everyone was marvelling at was that Edward should have allowed it. He must indeed be a sick man.

During the weeks that followed the Prince’s health deteriorated rapidly.

He sent for his little son Richard, a boy of nine, handsome, bright, alert. God preserve him, he prayed. If only he were a little older! If only his brother Edward had lived!

What could he say to Richard? How could he instill into that young head the importance of the destiny which lay ahead of him.

He asked that the King should come to him for he was too sick to go to him.

Edward came and sat by his son’s bedside. His grief was intense.

This son of his, this noble knight, could he be this sick and wasted man! How could God be so cruel to him! He remembered when this son had been born to him and Philippa and their great delight in him and when he grew to manhood it had seemed that all their dreams had been fulfilled in him.

Crécy. Such a boy he had been. ‘Let the boy win his spurs,’ he had said; and how he had won them! How the people had loved him! He had been their perfect knight, the symbol of chivalry; people had bowed their heads in reverence at the mention of the name of the Black Prince.

‘Oh my son, my son,’ sobbed the King. ‘Can this really be the end? It must not be. You will recover. You will be strong again. I need you, Edward. The country needs you.’

The Prince shook his head. ‘I am dying, Father. I know it well. I grieve to leave you ... and England. There are three wishes I have to ask of you. Confirm those gifts which I have bestowed, pay my debts from my estate and above all protect my son from his enemies. He is young yet ... only a boy. I fear for him, Father.’

‘You will live to reign after me, my son and I am not dead yet.’

‘Oh Father, you must live, you must not go ... not yet ... not yet ...’

The King promised that he would do all his son asked of him and went sorrowing away.

Joan knew that the end was near and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She had nursed her husband through his illness and for a long time she knew that she must be prepared for the end.

All that was left to her now was her boy. A great responsibility rested with her for when his father died that boy would be the heir to the throne.

There would be those who would try to depose him. It was always so when a boy became King.

She prayed for strength and she knew it would be granted her.

In the meantime she did all she could to keep her husband alive.

There came that day when the Black Prince sent for the Bishop of Bangor and his family gathered about his bed.

He prayed for forgiveness of those he had wronged and that God would pardon him his sins. As he died his eyes were on the stricken face of the little boy Richard who could not then understand what the future held for him.

The King was overcome with grief. He gave orders that his son should be buried with great ceremony in Canterbury Cathedral and his surcoat, helmet, shield and gauntlets hung over his tomb that none might forget that the greatest of all warriors lay there.

With the death of the Black Prince Edward dismissed the Good Parliament. John of Gaunt was in the ascendancy and appeared to have complete power over his father.

With the latter’s connivance Edward recalled Alice who came back with the utmost exuberance.

The people were enraged but in view of the King’s obviously failing health they did not insist on taking Alice from him.

She certainly pleased the King and he was almost happy with her because she could make him forget that the prosperity of the country which he had taken such pains and a lifetime of endeavour and attention to duty to build up was crumbling. She would not let him remember that he was leaving a restless kingdom to a young boy who had no experience of ruling. He shut his eyes to the ambitions of John of Gaunt and sank into a state of euphoria.

Alice was back. Alice had comfort to offer. She would not accept the fact that he had a short time to live.

‘Nonsense,’ she cried. ‘You are not dying. You and I are going to ride out together to the hunt. I have a new falcon. I am going to show him to you, You must hurry and get well so that we can ride together.’

So eagerly did she talk, so loudly did she laugh that he believed her.

‘Alice, my love, we shall ride out together. Shall we have another joust at Smithfield? I shall never forget you riding as the Queen of the Sun. You are Queen of the Day and Queen of the Night, my Alice. There was never anyone like you.’

Sometimes he was drowsy dreaming of the past. He would have Alice beside him, her vibrant looks contrasting sadly with his ageing ones. But with her he felt young again. He was convinced that they would ride into the forest and there would be a joust and he would carry her favour on his helmet. He would be the champion of them all again as he had been in the past.

He was so feeble that he must as yet stay in his bed. Few people came near him. That did not matter while he had Alice.

‘We shall have a tournament,’ she said, ‘as soon as you are able to get up. And that will be soon.’

‘Will it, Alice? Do you think it will?’

‘I know so. I must have a gown which shall be studded with pearls, and furred with ermine. I shall need a zone of emeralds and rubies to go with it. Shall I order it to be made?’

‘Do so,’ he answered. ‘Do so.’

She kissed him fervently. ‘You are the best man in the world,’ she told him.

Her zone was to be made at all speed. She was well aware that there must be no delays. She knew even as she talked of hawking and hunting and the lavish jousts, that time was running out.

The whole Court knew it. It was no longer necessary to show respect for the King. How could they when it meant getting past the strumpet as they called her.

She ordered the immediate servants to do her bidding; they brought food which he was too weak to eat.

Shrewdly Alice watched. It would not be long now.

There came the morning when he lay still unable to speak and death had set its mark clearly on his brow.

He would never speak to her again. He would never smile at her.

She knew that in his mind he was far away.

He was with Philippa of Hainault, the first time he had seen her, a rosy-cheeked buxom girl standing in the great hall with her sisters. He had known she was the one and she had known it too. He remembered her bursting into tears when he had said good-bye ... there before the assembled Court. It was then that he had loved her and determined to marry her.

They had been happy together—an ideal marriage it had been. Fruitful, happy and he had known she was the best woman in the world.

Only once had she failed him ... by dying. And then everything had gone wrong.

The light was fading and darkness was enveloping him. He was going to Philippa now ...

Something touched his hands he believed, but he was not sure. He was too tired to look.

It was Alice quickly taking the rings from his fingers. The time had come for her to leave.

There was only one priest at his bedside. He was holding the cross before his eyes.

‘Jesu miserere ...’ murmured Edward.

This was the passing of Great Edward. He was buried as he had commanded he should be in Westminster Abbey close to the body of Philippa.