Виктория Холт - The Vow on the Heron

‘As he must be,’ replied the Bishop. ‘He has four daughters. Naturally your bride should be the eldest.’

‘No, my lord. No! I have already met the future Queen of England and she is not Margaret the eldest but Philippa, the second daughter.’

‘I see, my lord.’

‘So when you are asked to choose the most suitable you will know which one to choose.’

‘I shall choose Philippa, my lord.’

‘And see that the rest of the embassy approves your choice.’ ‘I shall do that.’

‘I knew I could rely on you, Adam.’

The Bishop smiled. ‘I see it would bode ill for me if I returned with news of your betrothal to the wrong lady.’ ‘It could cost you your head, Bishop.’

The King spoke jocularly but the Bishop felt a shiver of uneasiness pass through him. One could never be sure with these Plantagenets. The temper which had come through the line from Henry the Second was notorious.

‘Rest assured, my lord. I shall keep it. It is too valuable an acquisition to be lightly cast aside. A matter has occurred to me, however, which no doubt you are aware of, my lord. There is a close relationship between you and the Lady Philippa.’

The King shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘Kings have so many relations among noble houses,’ he said.

‘That is so, my lord, but this is close. You and the lady both have the same great grandfather in Philip the Third of France.’

‘Well ?’ demanded Edward.

‘I think it would be advisable for me to prepare for a mission to Avignon after I have settled matters in Hainault. I cannot believe the Pope will raise any objection to the dispensation.’ ‘I shall ignore him if he does.’

The Bishop bowed his head. ‘That, my lord, I am sure will not be necessary. I shall set off at once for Hainault and my business completed there leave at once for Avignon.’

The King nodded, confident that soon Philippa would be with him.

EVER since Edward had spent a week at the Court of Hainault Philippa had never ceased to think of him. Before he had come she had been completely content with her life. Hers was a closely knit family and if it was a source of disappointment to the Count and Countess of Hainault that it consisted of only one son and four daughters they had showed no sign of it.

They had had one great tragedy in their life for there had been five girls. Their eldest. Sybella, had died when she was young; only the two elder ones remembered her, and they would never forget the deep sadness in the family at her premature departure.

The girls had always been aware that their mother came of a very noble family—the royal family of France, no less. Countess Jeanne was the daughter of Charles of Valois and her brother, Philip of Valois, was next in line of succession to the crown of France if the reigning King Charles died without a male heir. It seemed likely that he might for ill luck had been the lot of the Kings of France since Philip IV had persecuted the Knights Templars and their Grand Master, Jacques de Molai, had cursed the Capet line while he was being burned at the stake. It did seem as though that branch of the family would die out; in which case the Valois would take over.

Countess Jeanne never tired of talking of her early life in France and the four sisters knew how much more elegantly life was conducted there than in Hainault and how the music and poetry composed there was the best in the world.

‘Still,’ she would add, ‘I have known more happiness in Hainault than I ever had in France.’

That did not prevent her from introducing French customs and letting the girls know, if they ever acted in a manner of which their high-born mother disapproved, that they came from the royal house of France.

Philippa was sure that nowhere in the world was there such a handsome boy as Edward of England. Even France could not produce one so full of charm, vitality and kindliness, and since he had gone life had become excessively dull.

Every day was the same. It was made up mostly of lessons but there was also a good deal of exercise. The Count was a great believer in the benefits of outdoor life; they were all excellent horsewomen and their fresh complexions were an indication of their blooming good health.

It was a happy simple life they led and both the Count and his Countess had wished their girls to be first of all good women. They spoke their minds freely and saw no virtue in deception. They had been taught to be kind to those below them in rank and that, although they had been born without their own advantages, they were human beings and worthy of their consideration.

Countess Jeanne often smiled to think how differently she herself had been brought up; but she was wise enough to realize that the simple happiness of the Court of Hainault was infinitely more desirable than the sophistication of that of France.

The girls often discussed the visit of the Queen of England and her son who had since become the King. Philippa had a habit of bringing the conversation round to him and this usually happened at that hour of the day when they were at their needlework for they must set aside a certain time of the day to sew for the poor. They would all have preferred to work on some colourful tapestry but the Countess had told them that they must make themselves enjoy working on the rather coarse materials because they could think of the comfort it would bring to those less fortunate than themselves.

As she stitched Philippa thought of Edward and that made the hour pass quickly. She would sit smiling over the stuff and not see the strong thread but Edward leaping onto his horse, showing how far he could let an arrow fly, riding out with his falcon, and best of all arranging that he and she strayed behind a little or rode on ahead so that they could lose the party and be alone together.

Her sisters talked of him too. They had all found him attractive. And one day as they sat sewing their garments for the poor they heard sounds of arrival at the castle.

Young Isabella dropped her work and ran to the window.

She looked out silently and Margaret said: ‘Who is it?’

Isabella turned round, her habitually pink cheeks a shade more colourful. ‘It is important, I think,’ she said.

All the girls were at the window.

‘Why,’ said Margaret. ‘Look at the pennant. They come from England.’

Philippa’s heart was doing a wild dance; she could not trust herself to speak.

‘I wonder what this means?’ pondered Jeanne. ‘Doubtless,’ replied her eldest sister, ‘we shall discover in due course.’

They stood at the window watching.

‘Edward is not with them,’ observed Isabella.

‘As if he would be,’ Philippa had found her voice. ‘He is a king now. He has a country to rule.’

‘Kings sometimes pay visits,’ retorted Isabella. ‘Do they not, Margaret?’

‘Indeed they do. Edward must be one of the youngest kings that ever were.’

‘Some people are kings when they’re babies,’ added Jeanne. Philippa was not listening. Why had the messengers come from England? What could it mean?’

They were soon to discover. Later that day they were summoned to their parents’ apartment and there they found the Count and Countess looking more sombre than they usually did.

‘Come here, children,’ said the Countess.

They came and stood before their parents, Margaret first, then Philippa, Jeanne and Isabella in order of age as was expected of them.

‘You will have heard the arrivals,’ the Countess went on. ‘Yes, my lady,’ Margaret answered for them all.

‘They come from the King of England. You remember Edward who stayed here with his mother and whom your uncle John conducted to England?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I believe you all grew fond of your cousin.’

‘Oh yes, my lady.’ It was Philippa that time, speaking a little ahead of the others.

‘I am glad,’ she said.

‘I also,’ said the Count. ‘You girls will know that time must come when you must leave home to marry. Your mother and I know that you will not want to go. Alas, it is the fate of girls. The point is that the King of England is asking for the hand of one of you in marriage.’

‘One of us!’ cried Margaret.

‘Which one?’ Philippa’s voice had sunk to a whisper.

‘That is what has to be decided,’ went on the Count. ‘An embassy has come from the King and it is led by his Bishop of Hereford. Over the next day or so he will observe you and choose the one whom he considers most suitable to be the Queen of England.’

Philippa felt sick with fear. Oh, she thought, Margaret is prettier than I am; Jeanne is more graceful and Isabella has beautiful eyes; they are all cleverer than I. I shall die if they don’t choose me ... and how can they when my sisters are so much more attractive?

‘I was not surprised,’ went on the Count, ‘when the embassy arrived for your mother and I had already agreed when the Queen and the King—Prince as he was then—were our guests, that we should put no obstacles in the way of a marriage between one of you and Edward. This is our bargain. We are very happy that the King, now he has his throne, has remembered it.’

‘I am sure,’ said the Countess, ‘that whichever one of you is chosen, she will be happy. Edward is young—he is only a few months older than you, Philippa, and whichever one of you is chosen will quickly learn his ways and perhaps he some of yours.’

‘When ... when,’ stammered Philippa, ‘will the choice be made?’

‘That is for the Bishop to say. He will watch you, I daresay and then he will come to us and tell us which one of you he thinks will suit his master best. There, now you may go. I think the Bishop will not want to delay long. So perhaps within a few days we shall know.’