Виктория Холт - The Hammer of the Scots

‘Perhaps those terms would not have been necessary if we had all stood together,’ said Llewellyn.

‘Perhaps we should have stood together if the land had been fairly divided. We brothers wanted some, Llewellyn, and there was not enough to go round.’

‘Can we trust Edward?’

‘He is a man who prides himself on honouring his word. He can be trusted better than most kings. Already he has fulfilled his promise to me. I have a wife now, you know, Llewellyn.’

‘Is that so?’

‘A rich wife provided by Edward. The daughter of the Earl of Derby is now my wife. She has brought me much joy … and riches. You fret for the Demoiselle. Make your terms and marry. A man is meant to get sons, not to spend his days in a damp and draughty tent.’

‘You are a satisfied man, Davydd.’

‘For the time,’ said Davydd.

Of course he was right, thought Llewellyn. A man was a fool who did not know when he was beaten. There was a time to stop fighting, to make peace so that he could live to fight another day.

And meanwhile the Demoiselle was beckoning him.

* * *

And there she was at Worcester. The King had sent for her and he gazed in delight as she came towards him. She had grown up since he had last seen her, become a graceful, gracious woman. Love shone from her eyes which were appealing, a little apprehensive, as though she feared she might not please him. He wanted to reassure her. It was not for her to falter. Did he please her? He was some ten years older than she was and a soldier led a hard life. Perhaps it left its mark.

He took her hand. He said: ‘My Demoiselle … my beautiful Demoiselle.’

‘Llewellyn.’ She spoke his name softly.

It was enough.

The King with the Queen beside him looked on benignly. Happily married themselves, they understood and showed their sympathy. There were tears in the Queen’s eyes; she was a good kind woman.

‘There need be no delay in the ceremony,’ said the King briskly. ‘Once all the terms are agreed to.’

All the terms. Edward was a man to drive a hard bargain. But he could be trusted. He had promised the Demoiselle and she was there.

Llewellyn had surrendered all his prisoners to the King of England and they included his eldest brother Owain whom he had held in captivity for more than ten years; he had given up his claims to South Wales and agreed to pay a fine of fifty thousand pounds. Anglesey was restored to him but he must pay a rent for it and if he died without heirs it was to be returned to the King. The barons of Wales would pay homage to Edward instead of to Llewellyn.

Yes, it was a hard bargain that Edward drove. Llewellyn’s territory was reduced to that around Snowdon one might say, and the King had freed Owain and rewarded him with lands and done the same for Davydd plus a rich wife. He was showing them how he rewarded those who worked against his enemies.

It was a sorry state of affairs, but Llewellyn was in love. And what mattered most was that he had his Demoiselle.

The reunion of Edward and his Queen resulted in two more pregnancies.

There was a certain anxiety during that bleak March at Windsor as the Queen’s time drew near. It was two years since the sad little Berengaria had made her brief appearance, and there was a general feeling that although the Queen was clearly fruitful her children were inclined to be weaklings.

Alfonso’s health had not really improved. He was now five years old, approaching the danger period. There were days, however, when he seemed to grow stronger and in the summer he would often appear to be quite a healthy little boy. But during the winter he deteriorated and they had just come through one. Hence this anxiety.

‘This one must be a boy,’ said the Queen Mother somewhat peremptorily as though she were ordering the Queen – or perhaps God – to behave with a little more consideration for them all this time.

Such talk made the Queen uneasy but she knew that the Queen Mother was right. It must be a boy.

‘If,’ went on the Queen Mother, ‘it should prove to be a girl then she must become a nun.’

‘That must be a matter for her to choose,’ said the Queen with a slight touch of firmness.

‘No, indeed, my dear,’ insisted the Queen Mother. ‘Heaven must know this child is to be dedicated to its service. Then perhaps God will relent and if He has already decided on a girl He might change the child for a boy.’

This seemed strange reasoning to the Queen but she did not contradict the Queen Mother. No one did – not even Edward, who usually smiled and listened to her advice and then went away and ignored it.

The Queen’s time came. She lay in her bed eagerly waiting, but in due course she heard the disappointing words: ‘Another girl.’

But this time it was a healthy one, quite different from the ill-fated Berengaria.

‘There is no doubt,’ said the Queen Mother, ‘that this child should become a nun. I have chosen Amesbury, where one day I shall retire myself … when the time comes and if the Pope will give me a dispensation which allows me to keep my dowry. I have no intention of giving it up for any convent on earth.’

They called the child Mary and the Queen soon forgot her disappointment and knew in her heart that she would not have changed her for all the boys in the land.

The Princess Eleanor was delighted. She had noticed that her father was especially interested in her. He had always shown that she was his favourite and much as he longed for a boy that had never clouded their relationship. She believed that she could read his thoughts.

If the Queen kept producing girls and Alfonso’s health did not improve, then the most important child in the royal nurseries was the Princess Eleanor. She loved her little brother, but she liked being important too, and she could not help noticing that as she grew in years so did she in importance.

She was rather pleased, therefore, that little Mary was the new addition to the family and not some bawling boy who would have detracted from her importance and demanded all the attention.

Her thoughts concerning her position were undoubtedly based on fact for she noticed how, on their return from Worcester, her father seemed to spend more time in her company. Like all the family there was a deep bond of love between them but the Princess felt that there was something special between her and her father; she was devoted to her mother of course but she did not find the same thrilling pleasure in her company as she did in that of her father.

She liked to walk in the gardens with him and he, strangely enough, although so many people were wanting to see him, would find a little time for her.

Now that he was back she asked him about the war in Wales and he was quite ready to talk to her, as though she were one of his generals, and he took a great delight in her intelligent questions and comments.

‘You are growing out of childhood,’ he said on this occasion. ‘Thirteen is it. What a great age!’

She agreed with him solemnly.

‘I think it is time you had a household of your own. What think you of that? A complete set of attendants … your very own.’

‘How I should like that!’

‘Why not? Are you not my eldest daughter? And so much older than the others. Joanna will have to come home soon.’

‘It is strange,’ said the Princess, ‘that I have never seen my own sister.’

‘She will come home soon for we will have to contract a marriage for her. There are already negotiations going on with the King of the Romans. His eldest son is Hartman who will himself be King of the Romans one day. I like to see my daughters queens.’

‘I wonder what Joanna is like.’

‘Spoilt a little, I imagine. Her grandmother was inclined to pamper her as a baby and no doubt she continued.’

‘Then,’ said the Princess with a severity which amused the King, ‘it is time she came home.’

‘Oh? So you do not think your parents spoil their children?’

She took his arm and pressed against his side. ‘Dear Father, your children are treated as children should be treated. Everything you do is … perfect.’

‘What an opinion for a child to have of her father!’

‘When you spoke to me so solemnly I was afraid you were going to talk to me about my marriage. I could not bear to leave you, dear Father, and my mother and even my grandmother too.’

‘It will be some time yet,’ he murmured soothingly.

Why? she wondered. She had been betrothed to the Infant of Aragon for many years. His grandfather, the King of Aragon, had recently died and his son Pedro had become King. So Pedro’s son, Alfonso, the Princess’s betrothed, was direct heir to the Aragonese throne. In the circumstances there should be no delay in getting her married. Panic seized her. Could it be that this change in her father’s attitude towards her meant that she was to go away from home?

She cried out: ‘I could not bear to leave you all.’

‘I promise it will be a long time yet.’ He took her hand and held it firmly as though implying he would not let her go. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your new household. That is a much more pleasant subject.’

‘It will be a long time, will it not, my dear lord?’

‘Rest assured, my love, it shall be as long as I can make it.’

‘But you can do everything you want. If you said I should never go away, then I never should.’

‘I can see you are a dutiful daughter who has the right ideas about her father.’