The Hammer of the Scots (14 page)

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.’