The Battle of the Queens Read online

  After the King had been crowned the Bishops and Barons must pay homage to Henry.

  Eager for action William Marshal, supported by Hubert de Burgh, summoned all loyal barons to Bristol where they would be presented to the new King.

  It was comforting to the Earl to discover that more had assembled than he had dared hope. It seemed that now King John was dead they had no quarrel with the crown. A young monarch was always appealing though a matter for apprehension, for surrounding the immature, there were usually too many ambitious men. But in this case there was a difference. Providence had rid them of the most hated most foolish king that had ever been known – and was ever likely to be – and if his son was a minor he was backed by one of the finest and most noble men England had ever known – a loyal servant to Henry II and Richard, and who had even tried to guide John to reason. That man was William Marshal.

  So they came to Bristol and when they saw the pale boy, who could not have looked more unlike his father, so gentle was he, so eager for their approval, they were ready to swear allegiance to the crown. There was not a man among them who did not deplore the fact that there were French invaders in England; and they wanted to turn them out.

  So they swore allegiance to the new King.

  Henry, with his mother and brothers and sisters, spent Christmas in Bristol. William Marshal was with them and Henry found himself the centre of controversy. All the important men who came to the castle must be received by him and he was never allowed to forget for a moment the terrible responsibilities which had fallen on him.

  Richard envied him while Joan watched him with a kind of awe. She took to calling him King, which in a way he liked, because now that the first shock had subsided and all he had to do at first was listen to the Earl and do what he told him, it was not difficult.

  Their mother was with them more often than she had been and that pleased them. They were all conscious of her beauty and found pleasure in merely looking at her, as so many people did. Moreover she was a little more respectful to Henry than she had been and he enjoyed this. He had been inclined to feel that Richard was much better liked than he was which made him hang back behind his younger brother, but now that he was King and Richard so clearly envious, all that was changed.

  Isabella always liked to break news to them before it was formally announced by the council which assembled in the Bristol castle and which Henry had to attend whenever it assembled. At first this had frightened him, then bored him and afterwards he began to take an interest because they were discussing the affairs of the kingdom … his kingdom.

  Isabella summoned the three eldest children to her because she had news for them.

  ‘You know your new responsibilities, Henry,’ she said. ‘You have been crowned a king.’

  ‘With your necklace,’ giggled Joan.

  Isabella gave her a light slap on her arm. Joan’s frivolity was irritating and she was so pretty with her violet eyes and dark hair – growing like her mother, although of course she could never be quite so beautiful.

  ‘Attend to me,’ said Isabella sternly. ‘The lords are going to choose William Marshal as Regent and they are going to put you in his charge.’

  Richard grimaced and Joan looked at him, hunching her shoulders.

  ‘Now, Henry,’ said Isabella, ‘we will take no heed of these foolish children. This is a matter of the King. You will have a tutor who will be Philip of Albini. He is a good man I know and a great scholar. You will enjoy learning with him.’

  Henry was not alarmed. He was good with his books. Sometimes he wished that was all there was to kingship.

  ‘You will have to study and be worthy of your crown. As for you Richard, you are leaving at once for Corfe Castle.’

  Joan’s face puckered. ‘I don’t want them to go.’

  ‘Be silent, you stupid child. Richard has to learn even though he is not a king. He will be under the charge of Peter de Mauley at Corfe and his tutor is to be Sir Roger d’Acastre. The Earl of Pembroke has chosen the men he considers best for these important tasks.’

  The boys were a little dismayed but Joan’s lips were beginning to quiver.

  ‘I like it as it was when our father was the King … instead of Henry.’

  Isabella looked at her coldly. ‘Do not imagine that you will be here for ever.’

  ‘What will happen to me, my lady?’

  The Queen smiled slowly. ‘You are betrothed, you know.’

  Joan nodded. ‘To an old man.’

  ‘Oh come, he is not as old as that. I knew him once … well, very well.’

  ‘So he is as old as you, my lady.’

  ‘Older,’ she said sharply. ‘But he was then a very handsome man. I never saw a handsomer in all my life.’

  ‘People don’t stay handsome,’ said Richard.

  ‘Some of them do,’ retorted Isabella.

  ‘Is he still the most handsome man?’ asked Joan anxiously.

  ‘That you will discover … soon I think.’

  ‘Oh, am I going away, too?’ Joan looked round the room as though she were seeking something to cling to.

  ‘Yes, you will go away.’ Isabella smiled secretly. ‘You will have a governess to conduct you to your bridegroom. You will not be entirely alone, you know. Who knows … I myself might decide to take you to him.’

  The Queen began to laugh and her children joined with her, without quite knowing why.

  Throughout the country there was rejoicing because the tyrant was dead, but all must realise that being rid of John did not solve their difficulties. Many of them had welcomed Louis to England, certain that any ruler was preferable to John; but now that there was a new king supported by men such as William Marshal and Hubert de Burgh, they were eager to turn out the aliens. This was easier said than done. Louis was young; he was anxious to prove his valour and skills to his father, and he was as determined to succeed as many of the English were to turn him out. Moreover he had a foothold in England and his men were already in London.

  It was disturbing to Louis to find that since young Henry had been crowned, the English who had supported him were now slipping away to the other side. Louis understood. The whole world had been aware of the misfortune which had overtaken England in such a king as John and, distracted by his injustices, the English were determined to be rid of him; now a higher power had intervened and mercifully for England, the tyrant was dead. It was naturally the time when Englishmen were asking themselves: What are we doing with foreigners on our soil? Why are we welcoming England’s enemy? The need to do so is miraculously removed. We have a young king supported by great men. Let us drive out the invader … No, they could not call him that. He was the guest, invited by many of them. Come rid us of this John and in return you shall have the crown of England. How they hated John! But he was dead, and that changed everything.

  Yes, Louis was very uneasy.

  He returned to France to spend Christmas with his wife, Blanche. Because of the deep love and trust between them – rare in royal marriages – she was a wife with whom he could discuss state matters. That she was anxious about the English expedition, he was in no doubt; and he had agreed with her that now a new King had been crowned, it was time to make the final settlement. They must raise a new army – a force which the English would not be able to resist. Louis must capture the young King and hold him as prisoner – hostage, while he himself was acknowledged as King of England.

  It was April before Louis had perfected his plans and returned to England, full of confidence that this would be the final phase and that England was ready to fall into his hands. He and Blanche had even made plans for their coronation in England but Louis did not know that during his absence in France loyalty to the crown of England was growing fast. Men were now talking disdainfully of the foreigner on English soil, forgetting that many of them had invited him there. There were some who were asking themselves how England could ever have come to such a pass and were determined to drive the French from the country.


  Louis’s first setback was at Lincoln, where the castle was in the hands of Nicole de la Haie, a Norman woman of forceful character, said to be as good and better than any man in her determination to save England for the English. Already she had sent out a proclamation that any of those barons who had rebelled against John were invited to her castle if they now were eager to be loyal to John’s son, that they might discuss plans for restoring England to its rightful king. The boy was not responsible for his father’s sins, she declared; and the spirit of the great Conqueror and the two Henrys would haunt them for the rest of their lives if they allowed the country to pass into the hands of the French. Nicole was eloquent. Under John the country had been humiliated beyond endurance, but those days were over and they must start to rebuild an England which would be as great as it had once been.

  What an undignified defeat that had been. It had begun well enough with the French on the point of forcing an entrance when they had been nearly decimated by William Marshal’s cross-bowmen, led by the Marshal himself, who in spite of his years, was in the thick of the fighting. There was about William Marshal that aura which comes to some men. The Conquerer had had it; so had Richard Coeur de Lion; men who were ranged against him lost their will for the battle because he was there. So many victories had been theirs that the notion had grown among the opposing armies that they were fighting against an irresistible force. When Marshal engaged the Count de la Perche – who was leading one section of the French – and the Count’s followers saw the fleur-de-lis fall from the hands of the standard bearer and the Count dislodged from his horse, mortally wounded, they were certain that there was some magical quality in this man Marshal which was invincible.

  And from that time it seemed the battle was lost and that God had determined to discountenance the French for at the vital stage of the battle a cow had become wedged in a narrow lane with a small opening leading into one of the courtyards and could not be moved, so that the soldiers could not pass; thus the men were trapped and four hundred prisoners were taken, which was near the number of those who had assembled to defend the castle.

  So the French were utterly defeated at Lincoln and there was great rejoicing among the English, for those who had wavered and asked themselves what could be hoped from a boy king, saw now that with men such as William Marshal behind him he might learn to govern well.

  When he heard of the defeat at Lincoln, Louis was very melancholy. He could see the campaign ending in disaster for him if he did not act promptly. He knew he could trust Blanche. She had the blood of the Conquerer in her veins and she would not fail him.

  Nor did she. Within a short time he had word from her. She had toured the country raising men and money for him and her enthusiasm, her energy and her determination to serve her husband brought about excellent results. In England great consternation spread through the army assembled to meet them and even the heart of Hubert de Burgh quailed when he realised the number of men and the amount of ammunition the French were bringing in their fleet.

  He immediately sought out William Marshal to discuss with him what was to be done. William was with the Bishop of Winchester when Hubert arrived and he listened with dismay.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Hubert. ‘We must attack the fleet. If they make a landing we are lost.’

  William Marshal pointed out that he was a soldier and the Bishop was a cleric, and he felt it would be unwise for them to take part in a venture of which they were entirely ignorant; but they implored Hubert to set out at once and do everything in his power to divert the French fleet. They were very worried men at that time; it would have been comforting had they known that Louis in London with inadequate forces was equally worried.

  Everything depended on the successful landing of the fleet. Hubert knew this and that he had to match cunning strategy against the might of the French immediately. With all speed he rode to Dover and there assembled the ships of the Cinque Ports, not a large fleet by any means. He made sure of the defences of the castle and he chose the most stalwart guards to defend it. They must hold it with their lives, he told them. As for himself if he fell into the enemy’s hands and they tried to ransom him for the castle they must let him hang and hold the castle till not a man was left of them. ‘Depend upon it,’ he cried, ‘Dover Castle is the key to England. They may have London but while we hold Dover we command the sea.’

  The French fleet was in the charge of Eustache the Monk, which in itself struck alarm in the hearts of loyal Englishmen; for Eustache was one of those seamen about whom a legend had grown. He had, in fact, taken orders in the monastery of Saint-Wulmar near Boulogne, but he had soon discovered that the monastic life was not for him and had left his monastery to take to the sea, which was much more suited to his nature; and the fact that he had been blessed with success allied with his earlier piety had meant that a legend had been built about him that he was a magician possessed of supernatural powers. Men flocked to serve under him because they believed that heaven had granted him some special dispensation from evil which would reflect on those about him. Here again John had shown his folly, for there had been a time when Eustache had worked for the King of England, but being unjustly treated by him he had retaliated by leaving him and offering his services to the King of France.

  Some troubadour had made him the hero of a song which told of his brilliant and always victorious exploits and throughout England, Normandy and Aquitaine, and at the Court of France men sang the Roman d’Eustache le Moine.

  And this man, who many believed could not fail, was chosen by Louis to bring the French fleet to England.

  It was small wonder that Hubert was uneasy.

  He talked to his men of the great Conquerer who would be looking down on them this day. They were descended from him and his Normans who had rightly come to England and succeeded. If they were brave and bold, if they were determined to succeed as he had always been, he would be with them this day. If they thought of him, took his example and prayed to God, they must succeed. They must remember that God would not be pleased with one who had deserted his monastery to become a pirate.

  God was certainly with Hubert that day. Or it may have been that the Conqueror was really at hand to guide them to victory against the French. In any case it seemed that Hubert was endowed with a wisdom which outclassed the supernatural powers of Eustache. His fleet was small and that which Blanche of France had gathered together, great and powerful.

  How Eustache must have exulted as he contemplated the task before him. So few English; so many French; the French ships were big and powerful; the English less so. Hubert had sixteen ships; the French had eighty; he had known he would be outnumbered but he had not thought it would be by so many.

  Wily strategy was his only hope. The French fleet was, as expected, taking a straight course to Dover. Hubert commanded his captains to steer a slanting course, holding their luff, so giving an impression that Calais was their destination. It did not occur to Eustache that such a small force would attack, and he did not realise that this strategy enabled the English – well to windward while the French were running leeward – to attack the few ships at the rear and thus engage a smaller force than their own. By doing this Hubert was able to overcome the French in small sections, and Eustache, in the leading vessel, did not realise what was happening until it was too late.

  Eustache was drowned, but his body was recovered from the sea, and his head was cut off that it might be shown to the people that the magician monk was a lesser man than Hubert de Burgh who had defeated him and destroyed the legend of his supernatural power for ever.

  What rejoicing there was when Hubert landed at Dover, for news of his victory had already reached Dover and a great welcome awaited him.

  Five bishops headed the procession which wound its way up to the castle – that very castle which not so long before Hubert was warning his trusted men should be held at all cost.

  There was no longer need for anxiety. Louis was defeated. He had
lost his ships and all they contained, and many of the spoils were now in English hands. Hubert was proud to hear that only fifteen had escaped and returned to France and as ten had been sunk that meant that over fifty had fallen to the English with all the treasure Blanche had gathered together for her husband’s army.

  Victory indeed!

  This would be the end of Louis’s hopes. How the Conqueror would be smiling on this day. He would say that Hubert de Burgh, who by a simple strategy had saved the throne for Henry, was a man he was proud to claim as a Norman, a man after his own heart.

  John was dead. A new king was on the throne. There would be peace with France. It was a new beginning.

  Isabella’s women were dressing her in scarlet; this was a triumphant moment, for after Hubert de Burgh’s masterly defeat of the French fleet the throne was safe for Henry; and a great deal of that disaster which had come about through King John’s ineptitude could now be repaired and men of good will, nobility and intelligence could begin the task of rebuilding a kingdom.

  William Marshal came to her. He was ready to conduct her to the ceremony.

  As he bowed and took her hand he could not but be aware of her beauty; she seemed to be possessed of a new vitality which must be due to the fact that she had escaped from John. She looked, though, more like a woman setting out on adventure, than one who has just been bereaved of a husband.

  Her eyes mocked him slightly. ‘You think I am gaudily dressed for one so recently widowed? Nay, my lord, the last thing the people want to be reminded of is John. I have my son to consider. I do not wish that people should think of him as the son of John. ’Tis better if they forget that he is.’

  There was something in that, Marshal acceded. But at the same time he thought it might have been more becoming for a widow to show some discretion.