Philippa’s happiness was complete when the Countess arrived. She and her daughter clung together for a while and the Countess was clearly longing to be alone with Philippa. When they were she said : ‘Now I can look at you clearly. You look radiant, my dearest child. So it is all as wonderful as you told me in your letters?’

‘I am perfectly happy,’ Philippa assured her.

‘I guessed you were. You could never deceive anyone, Philippa. It is not in your nature and I rejoice in that. Edward is a good husband to you, is he?’

‘I could not have a better. I knew from the moment I saw him.’

‘There are few who are as fortunate as you, dear child. Your father will be delighted when I return and tell him how things are here. There is some talk about Edward’s intention to claim the crown of France.’

‘He has a right through his mother,’ answered Philippa. The Countess shook her head. ‘Philip would never give it up. It would be a long and bitter war.’

‘I think Edward realizes this. But he says there is a claim through his mother.’

‘You know he would have the support of Hainault if you did go to war, but I hope it never comes to that. I fear little could be gained by it and it would mean long separations. It is never good for husband and wife to be apart from each other. Yet sometimes with kings it is necessary. And with wars ...’

‘Do not fear, dear mother,’ said Philippa. ‘Edward is wise. He is no longer guided by his mother and Mortimer. He has changed a great deal. You see, he was so young. He is not very old now.’

The Countess nodded. ‘So many burdens on such young shoulders!’

‘Edward is capable of carrying them. Of that I have no doubt.’

The Countess kissed her daughter. ‘Now where is this wonder child?’ she said.

Edward was produced and showed what both declared to be an extraordinarily intelligent interest in his grandmother.

They talked of the Court of Hainault and Philippa’s sisters. The Countess was a little sad to lose her daughters. ‘It is inevitable though and we still have Isabella. Though her turn will come I doubt not. Your father and I miss you all very much. But when I go home and tell him how happy you are it will be a great consolation to him.’

Days of feasting followed and the climax of the celebrations was to be the tournament in Cheapside between Wood Street and Queen Street. For days men had been at work preparing the site and a beautiful wooden gallery had been constructed on the King’s orders. It stretched from one side of the road to the other and would place the ladies in the best possible position to witness the jousting.

Philippa was very anxious that Eleanor should enjoy the festivities and insisted on having the young girl beside her. It was thus that she found herself often in the company of Raynald, the Earl of Gueldres and Zutphen. The Earl, a handsome man of great charm, was clearly struck by the fresh innocence of the young girl. Philippa was delighted that he should notice her and Eleanor should appear to be so happy in his company.

‘Alas, poor child,’ she said to her mother, ‘she has had such an unhappy childhood and as mine was so happy I feel I want to do everything I can for her.’

‘You always had the sweetest nature in the family,’ her mother told her fondly.

Philippa went on: ‘She seems to enjoy Raynald’s company. I think he admires her. It will be good for Eleanor to enjoy the society of such a man and she knows he is far too old to be considered as a possible husband. He has four daughters I believe ... as you and my father did.’

‘He has recently lost his wife,’ the Countess added. ‘So he may well be looking for a wife.’

‘If Eleanor were older and he younger I would say they might fall in love.’

‘You are so romantic,’ said the Countess. ‘You fell in love with Edward when you first saw him and I shall never forget how terrified you were that one of your sisters might be chosen to marry him.’

‘My fears were groundless. There was never any question of one of them being chosen. Edward sent his Bishop to choose it is true but he told me afterwards that he warned the Bishop that if he valued his life he must choose me.’

‘I thought it had happened that way,’ said the Countess fondly. ‘And you are indeed fortunate. I am so glad that you realize it and, my dear child, I shall pray that you continue with Edward as you are now.’

For three days the King with fifteen of his chosen knights rode through the streets of London challenging all comers to the Lists. Edward looked magnificent. He was nineteen years of age now and fully grown to his great height, almost as long- legged as his grandfather and with the same flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and fair complexion. He looked, as his people thought, just as a king should look. They were proud of him. He was like a god riding through their streets, his cloak of green embroidered with golden arrows and lined with red silk. His squires rode behind him in white kirtles with green sleeves. It was, said the people, a goodly sight. The bright September sun shone benignly on the scene and at the windows of every house people watched the riders flash by. They cheered the King; they delighted in him. At last he had come to power and manhood. He had destroyed the ruthless brutal grasping Mortimer whom they had all hated. He had acted with discretion towards his mother; he had never forgotten that she was his mother and, although he had realized that she was guilty of great crimes, he had set her up in some small state in Castle Rising where she would remain for a while until time showed him what to do. It was said that none dared criticize her in his hearing, which showed a good loyalty; and on the other hand he had not seen her since the death of her paramour; she had remained in Castle Rising.

And there was the Queen—rosy-cheeked, a little buxom, kindly and splendidly gowned, her crown on her head, her silk gown embroidered with pearls and gold, her cloak of velvet trimmed with ermine. She might have lacked the outstanding beauty of the last Queen, but no one wanted to be reminded of her; and if there was something a little homely about Philippa’s countenance it shone with the softness of a good and kindly nature. She had made their King happy; she had given them their Prince; and already people were remembering little acts of kindness and the girl whom she had saved from execution.

The people of London were content with their King and Queen and little Prince. So they flocked to the Lists and they wanted to see their King triumphant.

It was like the days of great Edward all over again.

Philippa with her mother, Eleanor and a few of the noblest ladies mounted the tower, seated themselves and prepared to watch the pageantry.

The trumpets were sounding; the crowd were cheering; the royal procession to the Lists had begun.

The musicians walked before the horsemen, playing as they came. These were followed by the squires of the King’s household in their shining livery. Then the King himself. Edward’s love of dress was clearly shown, as for each day of the tournaments he had chosen different costumes. He had decided that on this day he and his knights should be disguised as Tartars, and ferocious they looked in long fur cloaks and high hats.

As he rode in the Lists Edward’s first glance was for the Queen in the gallery, seated there with her mother, his sister and the ladies of the Court. The King bowed low and the Queen immediately rose to return his greeting; as she did so everyone in the gallery rose too; and as they sat down there was a creaking sound, followed by a scream from one of the ladies, for the gallery seemed to reel and cave in and suddenly it had collapsed in a cloud of dust.

There was a moment of silence before pandemonium broke out. The King had dashed to the falling structure. Philippa, her gown covered in dust, her bright cheeks smudged with it, stood up. She was unharmed. The gallery had been made of light wood; it was too flimsy for the weight of the ladies and it had never been tested to see if it would take the weight of so many people.

‘Philippa,’ cried the King, ‘are you hurt?’

She laughed at him. ‘No, my lord. A little shaken. It was so sudden. I was not expecting it.’

It was a relief to discover that no one was hurt. People were crowding in on the scene and Edward shouted to them to stand back. He was clearly shaken and concerned for the ladies and in particular his wife.

‘How could such a thing happen?’ he demanded.

‘Well, we are safe,’ Philippa reassured him. ‘Only a little shaken and our gowns dirty. Oh, Edward, I hope it has not spoilt the day for you. You must not let it.’

She had seen a frown gathering on Edward’s brow and she knew what that meant. He was angry. She dreaded his anger. She had seen very little of it and it had never once been directed against her, but she had heard of the Plantagenet temper. It seemed most of them had it, and in some it was more violent than in others. Henry the Third and King John used to lie on the floor and bite the rushes in their accesses of rage; Henry the Third had only mildly possessed it and Edward the First had had it under control, as this Edward would; but there were occasions when it would break out and this was one of them.

‘I want the men who built this gallery found and brought here to me,’ he said. There was a brief pause. ‘Find them,’ he shouted, ‘and bring them to me without delay.’

Philippa said gently: ‘It is all over. We are not harmed. Such accidents can happen.’

‘Such accidents can happen only once in my kingdom,’ he retorted. He looked at her pleasant face smudged with dirt and her torn gown. His Philippa, who might so easily have been killed. The thought of what could have happened to Philippa enraged him still further.