Виктория Холт - Passage to Pontefract

The battle was over. Henry of Trastamare had fled the field. The Black Prince had given Pedro the Cruel his kingdom. He had shown the world that even for a King of questionable worth he would fight rather than a bastard should usurp his right.

They rode back to Bordeaux. The Black Prince looked weary as John had never seen him look before. There was a faint yellowish tinge in his usually fresh-coloured face.

‘You are unwell, Edward,’ said John.

‘I confess to certain disorders,’ admitted Edward. ‘Of late I have been aware of them. I pray you do not mention this to Joan. She would have me in bed and be acting the nurse to me.’

John nodded but he thought, Joan will have only to look at you, brother, to see that all is not well.

When they reached the castle, there were letters from England.

Great waves of exultation swept over John.

Blanche had been safely delivered of a son.

She had christened him Henry. ‘Henry of Bolingbroke, they are calling him, for, my husband, I decided that he should be born in our castle of that name. He is well formed, lusty, perfect in every way. I long to show him to you.’

A son, Henry of Bolingbroke! Born three months after Richard of Bordeaux.

It was the greater victory.

At last … a son.

Queen Philippa, suffering as she was from a dropsical complaint, was scarcely able to move. Her women helped her from her bed to her chair where she would sit with her needlework and dream of the past.

She was always delighted to see members of her family, and that included her daughter-in-law Blanche of Lancaster who contrived to spend much time with her.

During this year the Queen had come to Windsor Castle, one of her favourite residences and there she found it expedient to remain for the progress from palace to palace was too exhausting to be undertaken unless there was some important reason why she should do so.

In spite of her sufferings she was amiable and was always interested in the activities of those around her, ready to share in their triumphs and commiserate in their tribulations.

Blanche was a great favourite with her. There was a similarity in their characters. They were both capable of deep affection; and ready to forget themselves in their service to the loved one. Neither of them was of a complaining nature. They did mention however when their husbands were absent that they missed them, but both of them accepted these partings philosophically and the similarity of their lives was an added factor which drew them closer together.

Philippa would sit with her women at one end of the apartment stitching at garments for the poor or working on an altar cloth while Blanche sat close beside her where they could talk intimately. Philippa’s hands would be busy and so would Blanche’s. The Queen had never approved of idleness.

It pleased her very much to know that Blanche was pregnant once more.

‘It is good that John is home again,’ she said. ‘I trust my dear that it will be long ere he has to go to war again. I’ll swear you are hoping for another boy.’

‘It is what John wants.’

‘Your young Henry is a rascal I’ll be bound.’

Blanche’s face betrayed her pride and joy in her only son.

‘My lady, I know all mothers think their children are the best in the world, but Henry …’

‘Henry really is the most beautiful and clever child that ever was born.’ The Queen smiled. ‘I understand, dear Blanche. I was so with mine. Every one of them filled me with wonder. If you could have seen Edward as a baby! Of course he was the first-born. And Lionel. He was big from the start. And dear John. Such an imperious young gentleman. Then Edmund and Thomas. And the girls of course. They were just as dear to me. I had my sadnesses. Death has taken its toll. But when I look at my fine sons I can rejoice. Oh Blanche, if you are as happy in your family as I am in mine you will be a fortunate woman. But we must remember that while God gives with one hand, He takes away with the other; and He has always his reason for doing so and that, dear daughter, we must accept.’

Blanche bowed her head in agreement. She had lost the dear little boy she had borne, but now that she had her Henry she had ceased to grieve so deeply, although she believed she would never forget.

She was sure Philippa would always remember those children she had lost. Her greatest blow had been the deaths of her two daughters some years before, Mary and Margaret who had died within a few weeks of each other. She had never been quite the same since.

But she must not think of death now with the new life stirring within her.

‘This matter of Castile,’ the Queen was saying, ‘would seem to have been satisfactorily resolved. Pedro will have much to thank my sons for. He owes his crown to Edward and John.’

‘It was a glorious battle John tells me.’ Blanche frowned a little. Could any battle which meant death to many be called glorious? She did not think so and she knew Philippa would agree with her. If she mentioned this to John he would have smiled at her indulgently, amused at her woman’s sensibilities.

‘Aye,’ added Philippa. ‘Pedro the rightful King back on his throne. I hear news from Joan though that Edward returned from the battle in poor health. She is alarmed for him. She has changed since her marriage. She was such a flighty girl. Capable of any indiscretions I am sure. But she seems to be a good wife to Edward and they have those two dear boys.’

‘It is good for young Edward to have a little brother.’

‘It is always good for kings to have several sons, and Edward will of course be King of England one day. I always rejoiced because he was so worthy, right from the time of his boyhood. But in battle one never knows what may befall and it is good to have others who could step forward in case of disaster.’

Blanche was thinking: John believed that. John had hoped … but his hopes had been dispersed because of the birth of those two boys to the Black Prince.

As they were speaking a woman had entered the room. Blanche had seen her at court once or twice and had on each occasion been very much aware of her. She was tall and had a flamboyant somewhat coarse kind of good looks. There was a boldness about her which Blanche found decidedly unattractive.

Instead of joining the women at the other end of the chamber she came to the Queen and bowing to her and to Blanche she took a seat beside them.

Blanche was startled. Surely it was the duty of the woman first to wait until she was summoned to the Queen’s side and to sit only when she had been given permission to do so.

She waited for the Queen to dismiss her but Philippa did no such thing.

The woman took up the piece of needlework on which they were working.

‘It grows apace,’ she said. ‘My Lady Blanche is a rival to the Queen … with her needle.’

‘You like the colours, Alice?’ asked the Queen.

‘They are a little sombre, my lady.’

‘Ah, you like the bright colours.’

‘’Tis a weakness of mine. What thinks Lady Blanche?’

Blanche was astounded. She could not understand why the Queen endured such insolence.

She said coldly: ‘I like those well which the Queen has chosen.’

She noticed that a ring of rubies and diamonds glittered on the woman’s hand. Who was she? wondered Blanche.

‘Alice,’ said the Queen, ‘I wish you would join the ladies and tell them they are dismissed. I wish to be alone with the Duchess of Lancaster.’

The woman nodded but made no haste to rise and it was some minutes before she sauntered to the other end of the room. There she laughed with the women for a while and Blanche noticed that they seemed somewhat sycophantish towards her. At length they went out together.

Blanche said: ‘Who is that woman?’

‘She is one of the bedchamber women.’

‘She seems to give herself airs …’

‘Oh … that is her way.’

Blanche was astonished. The Queen was friendly to those around her; she had never stressed her rank or behaved in an imperious manner but there had been a certain dignity about her which prevented people from abusing her gentleness. Blanche had never before seen her so subdued by one of her subjects.

There were many questions which Blanche wanted to ask, but she could tell from the Queen’s manner that it was not a subject she wished discussed.

That there was some mystery about this woman was clear. She would ask John if he knew what it was. The incident had been extremely unpleasant and Blanche felt faintly depressed. It had obviously had the same effect on the Queen and the intimacy between them had become clouded.

Blanche took her leave soon afterwards and made her way to her own apartments in the castle. As she did so she heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs below and looking from a window she saw the King with a group of attendants in the courtyard below. Among them was John.

The sight of the King shocked her a little. He had aged considerably since she had last seen him. But perhaps she was comparing him with John who looked so robust and well.

The King had dismounted. He was standing in the courtyard saying something to one of the knights. He looked up suddenly. For a moment Blanche thought he was looking at her, but she soon realised that his gaze had gone beyond her. She saw the expression on his face. It alarmed her faintly. She could describe it as lustful.

Then she heard the sound of laughter. A window had been opened and a woman was leaning out. She was obviously the one at whom the King had been looking.