The knights were all eager to win the trophy; there was not one there who was not longing for the honour of having the crown placed on his head by those fair hands.

Yes, she thought, I am happy as I never thought to be. Joanna was right. I needed marriage and children. This is the true life. The crown of England for which she had longed seemed of little importance – a bauble. Here she was: a happy wife, a mother-to-be, the queen of the tournament.

The jousting began and went on throughout the day. The old Duke of Brabant had come successfully through several encounters and she hoped he would win. She wanted this to be his crowning endeavour, for he was clearly too old to joust much more.

She watched him. His opponent was a stranger whom she did not know. But he must be a knight of some repute or he would not be here. He was a tall man and he sat his horse as though he and it were one. Her father was like that. They had the long arms and legs of the Normans, and because of this they had the advantage on horseback.

It was the third turn. She heard the gasp in the crowd; there was a second or so of silence and then people were running onto the field where the old Duke of Brabant lay bleeding on the grass.

His opponent was kneeling beside the old man, imploring his pardon, begging him to use the sword against him, to kill him for what he had done.

The old Duke shook his head. ‘It was a fair fight,’ he whispered. ‘I should have known my day was done.’

He was carried from the field into the castle of Le Bar, where he died shortly afterwards. His death cast a gloom over the celebrations and the Duke and Eleanor agreed that they must put an end to them.

Some said it was not a good augury for the future. Now that the old Duke of Brabant was dead, Margaret’s husband was the new Duke.

In due course Eleanor’s child was born and to her – and her husband’s – great joy, it was a boy. She insisted on calling him Edward as a compliment to her father, and when the news reached England there was great rejoicing there. The King longed to be with his daughter. That was impossible, of course, but although he missed her sadly he was glad that at last she had a husband and child and he prayed for her happiness.

It was not long before she was once more pregnant and this time she produced a girl. She wrote to her sister Joanna telling her how happy she was and that she was going to name her daughter Joanna to remind her of the sister who had been closest to her.

There was no doubt that happiness reigned in the Duchy of Bar-le-Duc and fortunately neither the Duke nor the Duchess knew at that time how short-lived it would prove to be.


* * *

Joanna was now the mother of four children – Gilbert, Eleanor, Margaret and Elizabeth. They had all been born within the space of five years and the novelty of being a wife and mother had vanished.

As with her mother, child-bearing had come easily to Joanna and taken little toll of her looks. Her vitality was as strong as ever. She was twenty-three years old and, although when she was first married it seemed interesting to have an elderly husband, she was now beginning to see him as a very old man whose devotion was so constant that it seemed cloying.

She was becoming increasingly aware of one of Gilbert’s squires, a certain Ralph de Monthermer – good-looking, sturdy and above all young. When she compared this squire with her husband poor Gilbert seemed very old indeed and she wondered what would have happened if she had met Ralph de Monthermer before her marriage. She convinced herself that she never could have married Gilbert then and imagined what her father would have said if she had suggested Ralph as a bridegroom.

A squire for a king’s daughter! He would have thought she was mad. Perhaps she was a little. In any case she certainly felt reckless when she looked at that young man.

It amused her to play little games with him. To look up suddenly and catch his eyes on her and to ask him if he saw aught wrong.

He would become embarrassed, but only slightly, for he was quite a bold young man. ‘Wrong, my lady? Nay, right … far too right for my peace of mind.’

A pleasant allusion to her charms which she liked.

She would make sure that he was placed near her, but not too near. When she sang after supper it would be songs of hopeless love and she very much enjoyed the effect this had on him. When she rode out with a riding party he was invariably of it and she would pretend to be surprised to find herself beside him.

Some would say it was a dangerous situation into which she was sinking more deeply every day, but danger was irresistible to Joanna and she became more and more interested in Ralph de Monthermer.

Who could say how this would have ended and when it would have been brought to Gilbert’s notice if of late Gilbert had not been so easily tired that he had liked to retire early? That his last campaign had taken some toll of his health was obvious.

Joanna played the anxious wife for a while but it was a role she soon tired of. Fortunately for Gilbert he did not live long enough to see that she was wearying of it, for one morning when his attendants went into his bedchamber to waken him they found that he had died in his sleep.

It was not altogether a surprise for it had been obvious to the discerning that Gilbert had grown weaker every day.

Joanna received the news calmly. She found it hard to express any deep sorrow. The marriage had been satisfactory while it had lasted but it had lasted long enough. She could not have gone on being a dutiful wife much longer so it was better for everyone that Gilbert should pass on before he discovered this.

And there was Ralph de Monthermer.

She sent for him and gave him her hand to kiss in greeting. He did not release it but continued to hold it and drew her towards him.

‘What means this, my lord?’ she asked, but he saw the sparkle in her eyes.

‘I think you know, my lady.’

‘My husband is dead,’ she answered.

‘I know it.’

‘And you think that because of this you may with impunity misuse me?’

‘I think, my lady, from what I read in your eyes that I may presume a little on your kindness.’

‘Do you forget that I am the widow of your lord and the daughter of your King, Ralph de Monthermer?’

‘I forget all but one thing, lady, when I am close to you.’

‘You should leave me now. We will talk of this later.’

He hesitated and she half wished he would disobey her, seize her, make love to her. That would have been piquant with Gilbert not yet in his tomb. Instead of which he left, which after all was best.

We have the rest of our lives, she thought. We can for a while pay homage to propriety.

In his death chamber, faintly lighted by a wintry sun, for the month was December, Joanna had ordered that candles be lighted and one by one his squires went in to take their last farewell of him – a good master, a man of strong character, who more than once in his life had defied his King. Yet he was a man to be respected, for in spite of the fact that he had once fought against royalty on the side of Simon de Montfort, the King had given him his daughter.

Joanna was watchful during those days in Monmouth Castle to which they had come that Gilbert might guard his Welsh estates, and only now and then she allowed herself to catch the eye of Ralph de Monthermer, and then hers conveyed the message: ‘Wait awhile. But not for long.’

The family burial place of the Clares was Tewkesbury, and with great pomp Gilbert was taken to the abbey there. Joanna commanded that a statue should be made of him in his chain armour for he had above all been a great warrior; and on his tabard she had engraved the family arms and in the right hand the spear, in the left his sword.

‘Alas, poor Gilbert,’ she said, ‘he was a good husband to me, but he was old and it was to be expected that he would go before me.’

And she smiled to herself. She had always said that if a woman married once for state reasons – which as a princess perhaps duty demanded that she should – the second time she married, her husband should be of her own choosing.


* * *

It was imperative that she make sure that she should lose nothing by her husband’s death. His estates were vast for he had been one of the richest barons in England and when her father was in St Edmundsbury she took the journey there to be with him.

Edward was delighted to see her.

He embraced her warmly and looked eagerly at her, expecting, she supposed, to see the grief of a sorrowing widow.

She could not pretend to such an extent and when he sought to soothe her she replied, ‘My dear lord, Gilbert was a good husband to me. I married him because it was your command. But he was so much older than I and as the years passed the older he seemed to grow.’

The King was a little disconcerted, but he was pleased to see that she was not as unhappy as he had expected her to be.

‘I have my children to think to,’ she said. ‘I want to be sure that Gilbert’s estates come to me. I know that you would not allow them to be withheld from me.’

‘There is a certain amount owing to the exchequer, I am told,’ said the King. ‘I believe it to be ten thousand marks.’

‘That cannot be so, dear Father.’

‘Yes, my dear child, it is so. The ten thousand marks cover debts which he incurred as a fine and which was never paid.’ The King pressed her hand. ‘The rest of the estate shall be made over to you. I know it to be considerable.’