The Hammer of the Scots (16 page)

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.