The Vow on the Heron Read online

  Young Isabella dropped her work and ran to the window.

  She looked out silently and Margaret said: ‘Who is it?’

  Isabella turned round, her habitually pink cheeks a shade more colourful. ‘It is important, I think,’ she said.

  All the girls were at the window.

  ‘Why,’ said Margaret. ‘Look at the pennant. They come from England.’

  Philippa’s heart was doing a wild dance; she could not trust herself to speak.

  ‘I wonder what this means?’ pondered Jeanne. ‘Doubtless,’ replied her eldest sister, ‘we shall discover in due course.’

  They stood at the window watching.

  ‘Edward is not with them,’ observed Isabella.

  ‘As if he would be,’ Philippa had found her voice. ‘He is a king now. He has a country to rule.’

  ‘Kings sometimes pay visits,’ retorted Isabella. ‘Do they not, Margaret?’

  ‘Indeed they do. Edward must be one of the youngest kings that ever were.’

  ‘Some people are kings when they’re babies,’ added Jeanne. Philippa was not listening. Why had the messengers come from England? What could it mean?’

  They were soon to discover. Later that day they were summoned to their parents’ apartment and there they found the Count and Countess looking more sombre than they usually did.

  ‘Come here, children,’ said the Countess.

  They came and stood before their parents, Margaret first, then Philippa, Jeanne and Isabella in order of age as was expected of them.

  ‘You will have heard the arrivals,’ the Countess went on. ‘Yes, my lady,’ Margaret answered for them all.

  ‘They come from the King of England. You remember Edward who stayed here with his mother and whom your uncle John conducted to England?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘I believe you all grew fond of your cousin.’

  ‘Oh yes, my lady.’ It was Philippa that time, speaking a little ahead of the others.

  ‘I am glad,’ she said.

  ‘I also,’ said the Count. ‘You girls will know that time must come when you must leave home to marry. Your mother and I know that you will not want to go. Alas, it is the fate of girls. The point is that the King of England is asking for the hand of one of you in marriage.’

  ‘One of us!’ cried Margaret.

  ‘Which one?’ Philippa’s voice had sunk to a whisper.

  ‘That is what has to be decided,’ went on the Count. ‘An embassy has come from the King and it is led by his Bishop of Hereford. Over the next day or so he will observe you and choose the one whom he considers most suitable to be the Queen of England.’

  Philippa felt sick with fear. Oh, she thought, Margaret is prettier than I am; Jeanne is more graceful and Isabella has beautiful eyes; they are all cleverer than I. I shall die if they don’t choose me ... and how can they when my sisters are so much more attractive?

  ‘I was not surprised,’ went on the Count, ‘when the embassy arrived for your mother and I had already agreed when the Queen and the King—Prince as he was then—were our guests, that we should put no obstacles in the way of a marriage between one of you and Edward. This is our bargain. We are very happy that the King, now he has his throne, has remembered it.’

  ‘I am sure,’ said the Countess, ‘that whichever one of you is chosen, she will be happy. Edward is young—he is only a few months older than you, Philippa, and whichever one of you is chosen will quickly learn his ways and perhaps he some of yours.’

  ‘When ... when,’ stammered Philippa, ‘will the choice be made?’

  ‘That is for the Bishop to say. He will watch you, I daresay and then he will come to us and tell us which one of you he thinks will suit his master best. There, now you may go. I think the Bishop will not want to delay long. So perhaps within a few days we shall know.’

  For the first time in her life Philippa felt the need to hide her feelings.

  She prayed that night. Oh God, let me be the chosen one.

  Then she hated herself for being so selfish for it seemed to her that marriage with Edward must be the pinnacle of every girl’s ambition and this would be denied to those who were not selected.

  But I love him, she told herself. I was the one he rode with alone. I was the one he talked to. He said that he would come back for me. How could he send a Bishop to choose one of us!

  Had he forgotten then? He must have. She meant no more to him than Margaret, Jeanne or Isabella.

  One of the daughters of the Count of Hainault! Was that all that mattered?

  * * *

  It was a terrible time to live through. In her anxiety she looked less attractive than her sisters. She was clumsy at table. She saw the Bishop observing her gravely and she fancied he talked more to the others than to her.

  He would not choose her, she was sure, and she would spend her life in misery. She would beg her parents to let her go into a convent. It was the only way. She could not marry anyone else.

  They were once more summoned to their parents’ apartment. Philippa was praying silently. ‘Dear Lord, let me hide. Don’t let them see my grief. I must not weep. I must kiss and congratulate Margaret ... Jeanne or Isabella. But of course it will be Margaret. It is sure to be the eldest. The eldest always marries first. And he does not care. All he wants is a daughter of the Count of Hainault because he promised that he would marry one of us when he was crowned King of England. Which one was of no importance. Oh, why did I let myself care so much!’

  Her father was speaking in a tender voice for he found the prospect of the marriage of one of his daughters deeply moving. Much as he wanted a grand marriage he did not want to lose any one of them.

  They stood before him in order of age. They were all overexcited and the two younger ones were inclined to giggle. Margaret was serious for, like Philippa, she believed she might well be the chosen one. Philippa’s emotions were too pent up to be described. She could only continue to pray that she, who had always been frank, did not betray them.

  ‘My lord Bishop has come to tell us that he has chosen the future Queen of England,’ said the Count. ‘You will tell my daughter that she is the one you consider most suitable, I beg you my lord Bishop.’

  The Bishop cleared his throat and frowned slightly. ‘My lord and lady,’ he said, ‘your daughters are all charming. For me this has been the most difficult task. The lady Margaret ...’ He seemed to pause for a long time and Philippa thought: I cannot bear it. Oh how wicked I am. It is so wonderful for dear Margaret but I cannot bear it! ‘The lady Margaret is gracious and charming. The lady Jeanne equally so as is her sister Isabella. I and my embassy have talked much of this and we have come to the conclusion that the lady Philippa being closer to the age of my lord the King would be the most suitable to be his wife and Queen and it is for this reason, my lord Count, my lady Countess, that I beg, on behalf of my lord the King, for the hand of the lady Philippa.’

  She was swooning. I am dreaming, she thought. It cannot be.

  They were all looking at her. She had turned white and then red; she was trembling. Pray God the tears would not fall. So she was the chosen one. She ... and because she was nearest to his age!

  Her father had taken her hand and he was placing it in that of the Bishop.

  ‘She is young yet, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘She will be an enchanting Queen of England,’ said the Bishop.

  * * *

  She was more important now, the betrothed of the King of England.

  Her sisters talked all at once about the marriage. She was relieved that they did not mind too much. Isabella was a little regretful but then she was young and she had merely thought it would be fun to be a queen.

  ‘Of course,’ said Margaret, ‘you are closest to him in age.’ ‘Of course,’ she said demurely.

  ‘I thought he would have asked for you,’ said Jeanne. ‘He seemed to like you best when he was here.’

  ‘I daresay he forgot all about us as so
on as he left,’ put in Margaret. ‘He had to get his crown didn’t he, and there was something about his father. It seems strange not to be friendly with your own father.’

  ‘Oh, there were reasons,’ declared Philippa coming immediately to his defence.

  ‘I thought he would have asked for you,’ said Margaret, ‘and not left it to his bishop to choose.’

  No, nor had Philippa. It was a blow to her but never mind. She would not brood on it. She was to see him again. They would renew their friendship and it would be as though they had never parted.

  She had to be happy, even though it was the Bishop who had chosen her and not Edward and it was because of her age.

  There was another scare.

  Her parents explained it to her.

  ‘You know that your mother and Edward’s mother are first cousins,’ said the Count. ‘Their fathers were both sons of the King Philip the Third of France. This means that there is a very close blood tie between you and Edward and because of this the Pope must give his permission for you to marry.’

  ‘What if he does not?’ she cried in dismay.

  ‘There seems to be no reason why he will not,’ replied her mother. ‘We are sending an embassy at once to Avignon and we hope very soon to hear that the dispensation is granted.’

  So there were further anxieties. How she wished that Edward himself had come for her. In her fantasies she imagined his coming and saying: ‘Never mind about the Pope. Nothing is going to prevent our marrying.’

  But all was well after all. The Pope readily gave the necessary dispensation and the King of England, now that his bride was settled on, wanted no delay. Philippa was to be married by proxy and immediately after that ceremony, to leave for England.

  * * *

  There was a great bustling preparation through the castle of Valenciennes for Edward was sending the Bishop of Lichfield to perform the proxy marriage.

  Every morning when Philippa awoke she had to assure herself that it was really happening. She wondered how long it would be before she saw Edward. Over the intensity of her happiness there hung a faint shadow. It was there because Edward had not chosen her but had let his Bishop choose and the implication was surely that that idyllic week they had spent together had not meant the same to him as it had to her.

  I will make him love me in time, she assured herself; but still the shadow persisted.

  Her mother said: ‘Your father is determined that you shall go richly equipped to England. Your husband-to-be is by no means rich, King though he may be. A great deal of his treasure has been spent in war and his father was not a provident man.’

  ‘I do not care to be rich, dear lady.’

  ‘My dearest child, I think you are very happy to be going to Edward.’

  Philippa clasped her hands and said: ‘I think I should have died if I had not been the chosen one.’

  ‘Oh, my dear daughter, you must not speak so extravagantly. But I know your feelings for your husband and I am glad of them because whatever happens that love will remain constant I know and it will enrich both your lives.’

  The Countess wondered whether to warn her daughter. She had betrayed her feelings too easily, and she wondered whether Edward would appreciate such blind devotion as Philippa seemed prepared to give. A little restraint should perhaps be practised. No, perhaps it was better that her daughter should behave in her natural way which had endeared Edward to her when he had come here as a prince.

  ‘You are both very young,’ went on the Countess. ‘Fifteen years old. And you, Philippa to go to a new country I ‘

  ‘But, my lady, it is not like going to a stranger.’

  ‘No, dear child, and I rejoice that you are going to a husband whom you already love.’

  It was better to leave it thus, the Countess decided. Philippa’s frank nature, her inherent unselfishness and goodness would carry her through whatever lay in store for her. It was to be hoped that the boy King would recognize those qualities and appreciate them.

  Her sisters revelled in the preparation; they were often present during the constant fitting sessions; they cried out with admiration at the richness of her garments.

  ‘Just fancy our sister will be a Queen! ‘

  ‘Oh Philippa, how does it feel to be a Queen?’

  Philippa said that it was the most wonderful thing in the world. She was completely happy ... well not quite completely because to go to Edward she had to leave them—and, she added to herself: he did not really choose me. It might have been any one of you.

  As the days passed her happiness was more and more tinged with sadness at the thought of leaving her home. It would be so strange not to see her sisters and her parents every day.

  ‘You must all visit me in England,’ she said; and the thought struck her that in a short time all her sisters would be married and be gone from this lovely old castle in Valenciennes where they had been so happy. She saw the sadness in her parents’ eyes; her sisters were too excited by all the fuss to think very much about the parting. How sad it was that there could not be complete happiness.

  The days were passing quickly. Soon the time would come when she must really say good-bye.

  ‘Your Uncle John will meet you when you arrive at Dover,’ her mother told her, ‘so it will not be like going to a land of strangers.’

  She said it would be pleasant to see Uncle John again.

  ‘He is greatly enamoured of England and the English,’ replied her mother. ‘He was a great friend to the Queen, Edward’s mother.’

  Philippa felt again a faint twinge of uneasiness. She remembered Edward’s mother, the Queen---a strikingly beautiful woman, indeed one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. It was Isabella who had said of her: ‘She is a witch, I believe, a beautiful witch. The sort Satan makes more beautiful than anyone else so that they can get the better of other people.’

  Philippa also remembered a big man with flashing dark eyes and heavy brows who was always at the Queen’s side and who also for some reason had aroused her misgivings.

  But the excitement of those days swallowed up her uneasiness and she could think of little else but Edward.

  At last the day came. The Count had said that it would be better for the family not to accompany her. They would say their farewells in the privacy of the castle and they would all go to the topmost turret and watch her ride away with the large company of knights, squires and ladies who would be her companions until the end of the journey.

  Her parents embraced her with fervent affection, her sisters tearfully.

  ‘How strange it will be without you,’ said Isabella. ‘There are only three of us now.’

  And soon only two, thought their mother, for a marriage was being arranged for Margaret.

  She looked sadly at her husband. She was reminding him of the inevitability of losing their daughters.

  And so, riding at the head of the cavalcade, Philippa set out on her journey to England.

  * * *

  The crossing was comparatively smooth and in due course Philippa stood on deck and saw the starkly white cliffs coming nearer and nearer. And there looking out to sea was the fortress castle rising more than four hundred feet above the level of the water—formidable, warning off invaders and yet seeming to welcome her who came as a bride of the King.

  As she came ashore there, as she had been told he would be, was her uncle Sir John of Hainault waiting to greet her. He embraced her warmly and said that this was one of the happiest days of his life. He had always wanted a link between England and Hainault and here was his dear little niece Philippa to forge it.

  They would stay the night in Dover Castle and then they would travel on to London by way of Canterbury where of course they must pause to make an offering at the shrine of St Thomas à Becket, to thank him for their safe passage and to ask his blessing on the union.

  Philippa slept little during her first night in her new country and she was ready at dawn to begin the journey to Canterbury.
/>   Wrapped in furs to keep out the winter cold she rode with her uncle and from the villages they passed the people came out of their houses to stand in the roads and see her.

  That they liked the fresh young face with the open smile was obvious, and on that journey Philippa first became aware that the people of England were ready to give her a warm welcome.

  She was so young, so appealing, so ready with her smiles, and rumours about the late King’s death and the Queen and her paramour Mortimer were beginning to circulate even in the remote country districts so that people wanted a change and they were more than ready to show great affection to the innocent young King and his bride.

  By the time Philippa reached the outskirts of London it was Christmas Eve. There she was met by a procession largely made up of the clergy who had come to escort her into the city.

  Eagerly she looked for Edward but he was not among them. They are taking me to him, she thought.

  Her uncle Sir John rode beside her and told her that he was very proud of her and happy because it was clear that she was making a good impression on the English. She said she was just being herself which made Sir John smile for he knew it was naturalness which the people were finding so appealing.

  He delighted in pointing out the landmarks which he had come to know well. He showed her the Tower of London which she thought rather grim and hoped she did not have to spend too much time in the palace there. The river, though, sparkled in the frosty air and the gardens of great houses which ran down to the water’s edge were beautiful indeed. There were so many trees—ornamental and fruit-bearing. Now their stark branches made a lacy pattern against the sky and their leaflessness made it possible to see the landscape more clearly.

  Her uncle pointed out the abundance of green fields and he told her of the wells of London in which were waters proved to be beneficial to health. Holy Well, Clerken Well and St Clement’s Well. And there was Smithfield where every Friday—when it was not some great feast day or holiday—the finest horses in England changed hands. There was the Great Moor on the north side of the city which washed the edge of Moor- fields and here a few weeks later in the depth of winter when the river was frozen, the young people would come out to skate.