The Hammer of the Scots Read online

  ‘To you, Edward?’

  ‘Always to me.’

  He began to tell her of his plans for his daughters’ marriages and what he hoped to achieve in France. He had to stop her going over those incidents from the past which he had heard hundreds of times before.

  But he was pleased to part on terms of affection. The bond between them was too firm to be broken because he had grown into a strong-minded man who would have his own way and say what he thought to be the truth and because she was a selfish old woman who could not believe that she had had her way because she possessed an uxorious husband who could deny her nothing, but thought it was because she was always right.

  How did either of them know how long he would be away and what would happen in the meantime and whether they would ever see each other again?

  Now that their parents were out of the country and the Queen Mother was in Amesbury the Princess Eleanor was the undoubted head of the family. She was twenty-four years of age and so a mature woman. There was such a difference between her age and that of the rest of the family for Joanna the next was sixteen and Margaret thirteen; poor ten-year-old Mary was in Amesbury; Elizabeth who had been born in Rhudlan was only six and Edward four.

  It was true that Mary of Caernarvon, Edward’s Welsh nurse, guarded him like a dragon and put him right outside the Princess’s rule. He was a spoilt little boy anyway and thought the whole world had been created for him. Eleanor was angry that so much fuss should be made of him because he was a boy. And she would never forget either that merely by arriving he had ruined her dreams. It was true he was a handsome child – fair and tall for his age, very like his father had been. He was bright enough but already showed signs of indolence. Eleanor wondered what her father had been like when he was young Edward’s age. One day she would ask her grandmother, but the Queen Mother was a great romancer and coloured all stories from the past so glowingly that one was never sure how far one could believe her.

  Elena, Lady de Gorges, who had been their governess for years was with them in the schoolroom still. Not that the Princess Eleanor was in the schoolroom, but now that her parents were absent she was a great deal with her sisters and brother and in that respect could say she was part of the establishment. She had her own of course and grand it was, for when her father was really looking on her as a possible heir to the throne she had been treated accordingly and he could hardly ask her to relinquish her state when Edward was born. Far from it. He was eager to show his darling that she was still as important to him – if not to the country – as she had ever been.

  It was very rare, of course, for the daughter of a king to have reached the age of twenty-four without marriage. She doubted whether she would remain in a single state for ever. She knew that her father would see Alfonso of Aragon while he was away and it was very likely that some agreement would be reached.

  She hoped not – fervently she hoped not. She wanted to stay in England, and she knew her father wanted her to.

  ‘I must see the King of Aragon,’ he had said when they parted. ‘But it may well be that nothing will come of it. My child, it would be a hard wrench if you ever had to leave us.’

  She had clung to him and he had told her what a blessing she had always been to him.

  How she wished he would come back. It would be terrible if anything should happen to him on the Continent. Then Edward would be King … a little boy of four. Oh how stupid people were to set such store by the sex of a king’s heirs.

  Even when her father went away he did not appoint his daughter as regent of England. She could imagine the protests there would have been if that had been suggested. The task went to her cousin Edmund, Earl of Cornwall, son of her grandfather’s brother Richard. She was fond of Cousin Edmund who had ever been mindful of her importance and never treated her with anything but the utmost respect.

  Joanna was often rather mischievous in her attitude towards her elder sister, so that Eleanor wished she had not been so frank. Joanna liked to inspire confidences and then tease people about them. Joanna was not in the least like herself or Margaret.

  As she had said to Margaret, ‘It has something to do with being born in a different part of the world.’ It was something people would never forget. Even now she was often called Joanna of Acre.

  Joanna was extravagant. She was constantly overspending the allowance Egis de Audenarde gave her. This man had been appointed by their father as their pursekeeper and had had instructions as to how much was to be given them to spend on their needs; and Joanna could be very short-tempered with him when he admonished her for being more extravagant than the means at his disposal would allow.

  It was no use trying to remonstrate with Joanna. She did not grow less self-willed as she grew older.

  How different was Margaret, sweet Margaret who was always so subdued by her lively sister. Eleanor had noticed that when they were at the altar in Westminster paying their respects to the shrine of Edward the Confessor they had all presented their offerings, but Margaret had slipped in an extra two shillings.

  She had done it unobtrusively and when Eleanor had mentioned it to her had coloured in embarrassment and murmured that their grandfather had had a special love for the Confessor and she had really been thinking of dear Grandfather when she did it.

  ‘You never knew him,’ Joanna had said sharply, for she would never have thought of giving extra – rather of holding back a little to be spent on something for her own adornment. ‘He died three years before you were born.’

  ‘But our grandmother has made him live for us,’ Margaret pointed out.

  ‘Oh, people always become saints when they die. I doubt even the old Confessor was such a saint as he is made out to be.’ Joanna could be quite irreverent. It was fortunate that she was not the one chosen to go into a convent. Joanna warmed to the subject. ‘I should think he was a very uncomfortable old man.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He never consummated his marriage you know. He was too pure. I should not like a husband like that.’

  ‘What do you know of husbands?’ demanded Eleanor.

  ‘As much as you do, sister, since neither of us have had one yet. Of course you are getting so old that you may never have one.’

  Margaret said, ‘Well you know how frightened we were when we thought they were going to send her to Aragon.’

  Eleanor changed the subject and said that she was going through her wardrobe to decide what she would need for their forthcoming pilgrimage.

  ‘I wish we could stay at Court,’ said Joanna. ‘I am so weary of visiting shrines.’

  ‘It is the wish of the King and Queen and our grandmother that we do this,’ Eleanor reminded her sister.

  ‘I could almost wish I were Mary,’ retorted Joanna. ‘No, no,’ she cried, crossing her fingers. ‘I did not mean that. Poor Mary. What a shame to force her into a convent!’

  ‘She went of her free will,’ Margaret reminded her.

  ‘Free will. What does a baby know of convents? How can you renounce the world when you don’t know what the world has to offer? They would never have made me enter a convent, I do assure you.’

  ‘There is no need to assure us, Joanna,’ replied Eleanor. ‘We believe it.’

  Then they were all laughing and Joanna was telling them what festivities she would have at her wedding. There should be a masque – how she adored masques! There should be playacting and tournaments.

  ‘But you cannot have a wedding without a bridegroom,’ said Margaret. ‘And yours is dead.’

  ‘Drowned, poor Hartman! We willed it to happen, did we not, Eleanor?’

  ‘What nonsense!’ said Eleanor. ‘Now I am sending for Perrot and I am going to tell him what must be done with these garments. So many of my robes need mending.’

  ‘We need new ones,’ complained Joanna.

  Nevertheless Eleanor sent for Perrot the tailor, and she discussed with him how her garments could be repaired while some had gone too far to be renovated and she would need new ones. />
  Perrot was eager to repair as much as possible for he had been warned by Egis de Audenarde that the Lady Joanna was spending more money than he was authorised to supply.

  He examined the surtunics and the girdles which held them in at the waist and the mantles which were trimmed with fur and so long as to sweep the ground. He counted up how many silver buttons would be needed and how many gold.

  He rather diffidently suggested that the Lady Joanna’s mantle should be repaired and perhaps he could find a little more fur to replace that where it was worn.

  ‘I’ll not have a patched-up mantle,’ cried Joanna. ‘It will show and people will say that the King’s daughters dress like paupers.’

  ‘I assure you, my lady, that when repaired, this mantle will be very fine indeed.’

  ‘Fine in your eyes it may be, but not in mine. I will have a new one for I will not allow the people to see me in what you will make of that.’

  ‘My lady, I fear the funds will not allow me to purchase a new mantle.’

  ‘You will not patch that one.’

  ‘But, Joanna,’ said Eleanor, ‘if Perrot does not, what will you do for a mantle?’

  ‘I shall have a new one.’

  ‘But you have just heard …’

  Then Joanna flew into one of her rages. ‘I will not be governed by Perrot the tailor,’ she cried.

  ‘I do not seek to govern you, my lady. Only to tell you that the money allotted will not run to it.’

  ‘How I hate this vulgar talk of money! It is because the King is away that you think you can govern us, Master Perrot.’

  Poor Perrot was so distressed he was almost in tears.

  ‘Perrot,’ cried Joanna, ‘I have finished with you. I shall not discuss any further what I shall have and what I shall not have. I will have what I will.’

  With that she turned and flounced out of the room, leaving poor Perrot quite bewildered and distressed.

  Eleanor comforted him. ‘The Princess Joanna will understand in time that you cannot spend money which is not there. Please do not fret, Master Perrot. I shall tell my father that this has come about through no fault of yours. Now shall we see what I need for my garments and I promise you I shall not attempt to ask for more than my allowance.’

  Perrot thanked God for the calm justice of the Princess Eleanor and the gentle kindness of Margaret. He knew of course from other servants that the Princess Joanna was a trial.

  When Perrot had gone Eleanor said to Margaret, ‘Don’t fret about it. Forget it. You know Joanna. She will recover from her temper sooner or later. Then she will attempt to make up to Perrot for her unfairness.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ said Margaret. ‘Poor Perrot is most upset.’

  Joanna recovered from her rage but she did not send for Perrot. She was determined to have what she wanted, so she sent for merchants and bought extravagantly. She was more richly clad than any of her sisters and refused to wear a garment that Perrot had mended. When Eleanor pointed out that she was accumulating debts which would have to be paid she said, ‘Yes, I will speak to the King when he returns.’ She smiled mischievously at Eleanor. ‘He will be so delighted to return to his family that he will forgive us anything.’

  Eleanor thought this was probably true but she would never have run up bills as Joanna was doing, for her sister would be deeply in debt by the time their father returned.

  That December the three princesses set out for Glastonbury. The King and Queen had arranged this journey for them before they had left for the Continent. It was well, said the King, for the people to realise the piety of the royal family and the three girls were of an age now to show the country that they were devout. Money would have to be raised for their marriages when the King returned to England, for he could not keep all his daughters in the single state for ever. So let the people see what good pious girls they were.

  Glastonbury was the most important of the abbeys because it held the bones reputed to be those of King Arthur; and since that monarch had been much discussed at the time of Llewellyn’s uprising he was anxious to remind the people that Arthur did not belong to the Welsh any more than the English.

  The fact that the princesses travelled in winter made their pilgrimage more commendable for it was no luxury to make their way through the countryside during the season of snow and frost, and even if it was not cold enough for that there were rain and muddy roads to contend with.

  So they set out and they did not ride on horseback but in chariots and in the midst of a large cavalcade of knights, ladies and attendants of all ranks.

  Wherever they went the people came out to welcome them. There was no doubt that the reigning King and Queen were more popular than their predecessors had been.

  They were warmly greeted in all the abbeys at which they called and with good reason for it was the recognised custom that royal visitors meant royal gifts.

  When they had paid their respects to the bones at Glastonbury they started on their homeward journey by calling at the Abbey of Cerne in Dorsetshire that they might pay homage to the shrine of St Ethelwold. They spent Christmas in Exeter where they stayed until mid-January and it was February by the time they were back in Westminster.

  It was at this time that there was a violent quarrel between Joanna and Egis de Audenarde when he told her blankly that he could advance her no more money. She had spent so much more than her allowance that he must stop it forthwith until what she had bought was paid for.

  This was one of the occasions when Joanna’s temper would not be controlled. That she, a Princess of England, should be dictated to by one of her father’s servants – a clerk, nothing more – was intolerable to her.

  ‘I will spend as I will, sir,’ she cried.

  ‘Not of the King’s monies, my lady.’

  ‘I think you forget to whom you speak,’ she flashed.

  ‘My lady, you forget that I am in charge of the King’s accounts and it is his orders I must obey.’

  ‘Get from my sight,’ she shouted. ‘I will have no more of you. From this moment you are no more concerned with my affairs.’

  De Audenarde bowed low.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I withdraw. You must do as you will and it is for you to answer to the King.’

  Still fuming with rage Joanna sought out her sisters and told them what had happened.

  ‘He was right,’ said Eleanor. ‘He cannot spend our father’s money.’

  ‘What nonsense. How can we clothe ourselves if we do not spend money?’

  ‘You know we have plenty of clothes. Perrot can mend them.’

  ‘I will not be seen in patches. When I want new garments I shall have them.’

  Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. ‘Do so, but remember it is you who will have to answer to our father when he returns.’

  Joanna said she would do that willingly. And she spent even more recklessly than she intended so that she could show her sisters that she did not care.

  The princesses were seated at their embroidery in one of the chambers in Windsor Castle which was light and therefore suitable to work in, and at the same time gave them a view of the forest.

  Joanna was in a good mood. Strangely enough for one of her restless nature, she loved to embroider. It had a soothing effect on her temper, she often said, and she rather mischievously chose colours to suit those moods of hers. It was said that if her women saw her embroidering in sombre colours they knew it was the time to keep away from her. She had been taught the art by the Lady Edeline and had started to learn in the days when she was in her Castilian nursery. The Castilians did beautiful work. That was why they liked to see it set up on walls that it might be continuously on view.

  She had spent lavishly on her silks and now showed them with delight to Eleanor and Margaret who sat with her.

  ‘But you had plenty before,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I needed more,’ she retorted.

  She was working with a beautiful blue silk which meant she was in a benign mood
. Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. It was Joanna who would have to ask her father to pay her debts. It was no concern of the Princesses Eleanor and Margaret.

  ‘Just look at this lady’s dress. Is it not a heavenly colour? I shall run some gold thread through the blue and make it even more grand.’

  ‘She looks as though she is going to a wedding,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Ah, weddings. I have been thinking of weddings. When do you think the King and Queen will return, Eleanor?’

  ‘It cannot be long now. They have been away nearly two years.’

  ‘Matters on the Continent absorb them, I doubt not,’ said Margaret.

  ‘I’ll wager we are discussed.’ Joanna was smiling. ‘Weddings. I’ll swear there will be weddings when they come back. A husband for me, a husband for you. Oh, Margaret, sweet sister, we shall soon be leaving you.’

  ‘Pray do not speak of it.’

  ‘She would miss us,’ cried Joanna. ‘Would you miss my teasing?’

  ‘Very much,’ answered Margaret.

  ‘She loves me in spite of my evil nature,’ said Joanna. ‘Yes, you do. People do not always like the good, do they? It is most unfair. I am determined to have my way and I tell you this, if I do not like the husband who is chosen for me I’ll not take him.’

  ‘You will have to take whoever is given you,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I won’t! I won’t! I will not be governed by …’

  ‘By the King?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Marriage is too important a matter,’ insisted Joanna. ‘Is it not strange that Margaret is the only one who is betrothed? Little Margaret who is not yet fifteen. What think you of your Duke, Margaret?’

  ‘If our father has chosen him for me then he must be the best husband I can have.’

  ‘Dutiful daughter! Will she be as dutiful a wife, I wonder? Eleanor, what think you of the Duke of Brabant?’

  ‘I thought him handsome,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I thought he was more interested in his horses and falcons than his wife-to-be.’

  ‘Margaret was only a child when he came here. How could he be interested in her?’