That was not entirely the truth. There had been an understanding between Isabella and the Count of Hainault and it concerned Edward’s marriage. They had bargained in secret and strangely enough Edward had felt no resentment and this for a very special reason. When he had arrived at the Court of Hainault, after having somewhat humiliatingly left the French Court where they had become unwelcome guests, Edward had enjoyed one of the most pleasant weeks of his life. This was due to the happy time he had spent with the Count’s four charming daughters, and there was one of these daughters who had become his special friend. That was Philippa. He had found her elder sister Margaret charming and her two younger sisters Jeanne and Isabella pleasing; but it was Philippa who had affected him most deeply. She was a tall girl, brown-haired, brown-eyed and with a dazzling pink-and-white complexion, and he had been struck by a certain simplicity lacking in the girls of her age he had met at the Court of France. Not that she was by any means stupid, far from it. She was lively and laughed easily and was so frankly honest that he could not help being charmed by her. Perhaps too his delight in her company was enhanced by her admiration for him. When he had left Hainault she had astonished everyone by bursting into tears because she had to say goodbye to him; and she did this before her parents and their entourage who had gathered together to wish him, his mother and their followers well.

So the fact that his mother had contrived to get the means to raise an army from the Count of Hainault on the condition that her son should marry one of his daughters, and the money supplied was in truth the dowry of that daughter, did not greatly perturb Edward.

One thing he would insist on was that when one of the Hainault girls was chosen for him that girl would have to be Philippa.

When he thought of Philippa and his marriage which must take place soon he felt a rising exultation. It was true he was not yet fifteen but his age would be no deterrent. Philippa was some months younger than he was but when they had ridden out together and he had come to know her he had seen that she was as ready for marriage as he was. It would be gratifying to offer her the crown of England, and he wanted to return from Scotland a conqueror. When he thought of these matters he could easily suppress uneasy thoughts about his father. Had he not given up the crown of his own free will? He preferred a life of ease at Kenilworth in the company of his cousin Lancaster to ruling a country. There was no need to wonder or worry about him. He had always been rather strange, different from other men; and the Queen had assured him that all had been done for the best.

He could believe that, and when Philippa came to him it would be wonderful to have her crowned as his Queen.

Once this Scottish matter was over he would insist on marriage and that his bride must be Philippa of Hainault.

He welcomed Sir John to York. He was delighted to see him not only because he was Philippa’s uncle but because he came with a great army.

His mother greeted Sir John with great affection. She would never forget what he had done for her and she constantly told him so. Sir John was in love with the Queen which made the situation charmingly romantic.

Edward found his mother in her private chamber. Roger de Mortimer was with her. It was becoming more and more impossible to see his mother without Mortimer’s being there too.

‘My dearest son,’ said the Queen embracing him, ‘is it not good to see these men of Hainault in the town?’

‘I welcome them,’ replied Edward.

‘They have been good friends to us,’ commented Mortimer. He was a little forward, Edward thought. He behaved as though he were a member of the family. Mortimer’s manner often irritated him, but his mother did not seem to notice that there was anything wrong and Edward felt too unsure of himself to show he was aware of it.

‘Indeed, it is so,’ said Edward with a certain hauteur. ‘The Count of Hainault proved himself most hospitable to us.’

‘At a time we most needed it,’ went on the Queen. ‘Now I would show similar hospitality to Sir John. I am arranging a banquet to welcome them to York.’

Young Edward inclined his head. Perhaps they should have asked his permission first. Not his own mother surely! He was of course the King but he had to be guided by them in most things. It was not so had when it came from his mother, but he was not sure that he liked to see Mortimer there all the time nodding as though he himself had been the main judge in what should be done. He wondered whether he should speak to his mother about Mortimer. Whenever she mentioned the man there would be a very special note in her voice. What was it? Respect? Admiration? Affection? Well perhaps Mortimer had stood by her when she most needed friends.

‘Sir John will be lodged in an abbey belonging to the White Monks,’ said Mortimer. ‘His men will be close by in quarters allotted to them. It is well not to have them too close to our English troops.’

Edward looked puzzled.

‘There has been a certain amount of friction,’ explained the Queen. ‘The Flemings do certain things differently from the English and it seems that people are inclined to sneer at those who are not exactly like themselves. A strange trait of human nature ... but one commonly found I believe.’

‘How stupid,’ said Edward.

Mortimer smiled his slow rather patronizing smile. “Tis so, my lord, but so many things in life are.’

As though, thought the King, reminding me that I have much to learn.

‘Where is the banquet to take place?’

‘In the house of the Friars Minor,’ his mother told him. ‘It seemed suitable—both the Earl of March and I were of the opinion that it was the best place.’

The Earl of March! Roger de Mortimer. He was nothing but a Marcher Baron until he made his escape from the Tower—where he was being held a prisoner—and was joined by the Queen in France. Then they had gone to Hainault and found help there and come to England, as a result of which his father was a guest at Kenilworth Castle and he was a king.

‘Sir John has been invited?’ he asked coolly.

‘Yes,’ replied his mother. ‘And he is delighted.’

‘Perhaps it would have been proper for the invitation to have come from me.’

‘My lord,’ cried Mortimer with mock consternation, ‘but of course it was given in your name.’

‘Without my knowledge! ‘

‘Such a trivial matter seemed far beneath the notice of the King, my lord.’

Mortimer was smiling that rather sly smile. His mother laid a hand on his arm. ‘You have no objection to this banquet, Edward?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Oh no, no. It is merely that ...’

He looked from one to the other. They managed to assume expressions of concern. He was unsure. Oh how he wished he were not fourteen years old. He had the feeling though that Mortimer was laughing at him.

He said quietly: ‘I shall be glad to welcome Sir John and his men to the House of the Friars Minor.’


* * *

There was a certain tension in the hall of the House of Friars Minor. In the centre of the table on the dais sat the King and on one side of him was Sir John, on the other his mother. Beside his mother was Roger de Mortimer and men of rank made up the rest of the table.

From the tables in the main body of the hall it soon became obvious that the men of Hainault did not mix with the English. It was almost as though two enemies had met for a banquet rather than two allies, for it was impossible not to be aware of the contemptuous looks they bestowed on each other and Edward heard a few insults flung from one side of the hall to the other.

The Queen did not appear to notice. She was chatting amiably with Mortimer, but Sir John was alert.

He whispered to the King that his men were getting restive. They had been away from home too long.

‘After this campaign,’ he added, ‘they must be disbanded. They need to go home to their families.’

‘We should not be long in Scotland,’ said Edward. ‘They say Robert the Bruce is a sick man.’

‘A sick man,’ agreed Sir John, and added: ‘but a shrewd one. Let us not delude ourselves into thinking this will be an easy victory.’

‘I am determined to win back all that my grandfather won.’

‘Yes, my lord, you will be another such as he was. It was a pity so much won with blood and toil should have been so quickly lost.’

It was another reproach to his father, Edward knew; and he was not displeased because it was a further justification of what had happened. It was good that he was the King. He was going to be all that his grandfather had been ... and perhaps ... Yes, it was a dream of his that he might even surpass him.

At that moment two men who were playing dice at one of the tables stood up and faced each other. Suddenly a stool went flying through the air. It hit one of the men and he fell. That was the signal. For a few seconds Edward watched dismayed. Sir John, the Queen and Mortimer were equally and silently disturbed.

Mortimer cried out in a loud voice: ‘Stop that. By God, any man who brings his quarrels before the King condemns himself as a traitor.’

That should have sobered them. The traitor’s death of hanging, drawing and quartering was the most dreaded end which could befall any man. But it had no effect on these men. In a matter of seconds the quarrel between two men had become a general brawl and the hall was quickly becoming a battle field.

Edward rose to his feet and shouted: ‘Order! In the name of the King ...’