Edward changed the subject. ‘It is time our son married. Why think you he delays so long?’

Philippa was thoughtful. She did not understand this son whom she adored perhaps more than anyone else, even Edward. Her Black Prince was a hero in every sense. His handsome looks, his valour, his prowess on the battlefield, were undeniable. People called him the victor of Crécy—and that had happened when he was little more than a boy. She had shivered when she heard how his father would not send anyone to his aid because he wanted young Edward to win glory that day. He might have been killed. But he had won his spurs indeed.

There was a strangeness about him, an aloofness. And why did he not marry? He was not without interest in women. In fact there had been a rumour that he had had a child by one of them. Why did he hesitate?

‘He would seem to have no fancy for the state,’ said Philippa, ‘but it is true ...’

‘He has had a mistress or two,’ said Edward. ‘That may be, but now he is of an age to marry. I should like to see my grandson before too many years pass.’

‘I believe he has a fondness for Joan of Kent. She is a beautiful girl ... the most beautiful at Court some say ... and she is royal.’

Edward did not meet the Queen’s eye. He agreed that Joan of Kent was one of the most desirable girls at Court. Sometimes he wished he had not imposed so rigid a code on himself. Then he would have given way to his impulses. Other kings had done so and this little foible had been accepted. It was Philippa he was thinking of. He loved Philippa; he would not wish to hurt her in any way.

But Joan of Kent ... what a beauty! Involuntarily he compared that willowy seductive shape, those exquisite bones, those languishing eyes, that smile which was almost an invitation, with Philippa. How fat she had grown! She wheezed as she walked and she could not move about without difficulty.

He always tried to see her as the fresh-faced girl she had been when he married her and had been so content with her. But of course she had always been homely.

‘Joan of Kent,’ he said. ‘We could not say no to such a match. Why does he not ask her?’

‘Perhaps you could speak to him.’

‘Perhaps you should,’ replied Edward.

Philippa agreed that she would do so, but it was not easy to talk to the Prince of such matters. He could evade the issue with the utmost of ease.

Edward thought of having the disturbing Joan as a daughter-in-law.

It would be disconcerting.


* * *

It was Philippa to whom the Scottish Queen turned for comfort. Philippa seemed to understand how desolate she was and how overawed by the English Court. Edward was kind as he had always been to her but he showed an uneasiness which she felt due to her presence in England.

It was a strange situation; his brother-in-law his captive and his own sister come to plead for his release. To a family man such as Edward it was a distressing situation and he believed it would have been better for all if Joanna had remained in Scotland.

When she asked earnestly for the release of her husband Edward was adamant. She must understand that if David were released it was very likely that the war would break out on the border once more. Edward could not allow that to happen. His country had been devastated by the pestilence—so was France for that matter; so was the whole of Europe, the whole of the world. This was no time to allow reckless men to make trouble.

Joanna saw this clearly, yet suggested to Philippa that there might be a treaty one of the terms of which would be the release of her husband.

But Philippa was sure that Edward would never agree.

‘In which case,’ replied Joanna, ‘I might stay here in England with my husband and share his prison.’

Philippa was embarrassed. How could she tell her sister-in- law that David already had a companion sharing his prison—the beautiful and brazen Katherine Mortimer?

She discussed this with Edward and they both agreed that no good could be served by letting Joanna know of this liaison between her husband and his mistress which was of such importance to him that he preferred—or so he said—to remain in England with her than return to Scotland and his Queen.

Of course if he were released there was no doubt that Katherine Mortimer would follow him to Scotland.

It was far better, reasoned Philippa, for Joanna to go back to Scotland believing that the King of England was firm in his resolution to keep her husband prisoner than to learn the true facts about her feckless faithless husband for whom it was clear she had a great deal of loyal affection.

So Joanna made her preparations to leave.

First she visited her father’s tomb in Gloucester. She was sad thinking of his unhappy end and the tragedy of his and her own life. Mystery still surrounded events in Berkeley Castle but there were evil rumours about it and she dreamed of her father often and thought of him as he had been when she had been a child and forced into the Scottish marriage by her overbearing mother.

She did not possess many jewels but some she laid on the tomb of her father, thinking of him when he had been handsome and kind—though he had never spent much time with his children.

She prayed fervently for his soul and then she went to Castle Rising to see her mother.

Queen Isabella who had played such an important part in deposing her husband and had for a time ruled England with her lover Roger de Mortimer seemed to have accepted a life of tranquillity. She was still beautiful in spite of her years and was Lady Bountiful to the people of the neighbourhood. She lived well and seemed to have no qualms of conscience about the evil deeds which she had inspired.

It was hard to believe that this serene lady had been the instigator of that fearful murder in Berkeley Castle.

She received her daughter graciously and entertained her at the Castle in a royal manner. She talked with undisguised pleasure of the gifts she had received of wines and barrelled sturgeon which was her favourite food.

She was not the least interested in Joanna’s troubles and scarcely mentioned her husband’s imprisonment.

There was about her an aloofness, a strangeness even. Joanna heard that occasionally her mother lapsed into moods of near madness, but these were becoming less and less frequent.

The past seemed like a dream to Joanna; the present was tragedy and she dared not look into the future.

Sadly she returned to Scotland.


* * *

The Princess Isabella still smarted occasionally when she recalled the manner in which Louis of Flanders had jilted her and almost immediately married Margaret of Brabant.

The fact that he had felt so strongly as to plan an escape, which he had carried out with a few of his friends, really was insulting.

She had pretended not to care—and indeed she had had no great love for Louis—but the fact that she, the beloved daughter of the King on whom he doted more than on any other, had been jilted, was galling to her vanity.

She was a little annoyed too because of all the attention Joan of Kent demanded at Court. Joan was said to be the most beautiful girl at Court—out of Isabella’s hearing, of course. She was royal too, which was irritating. She had many admirers and Isabella had noticed, too, that the King himself often allowed his eyes to rest on her.

Joan had created something of a scandal recently by admitting that she had secretly married Thomas Holland. That was when plans to marry her to the Earl of Salisbury were progressing too fast; and when it was discovered that she had actually lived with Holland as his wife, nothing could be done but to accept the marriage.

The Black Prince, who was quite clearly attracted by Joan, must have been deeply put out; but Isabella could understand Joan’s impatience with him because although he was clearly fond of her he had made no effort to marry her.

Joan was sly; Joan was clever. Isabella believed that had Edward offered marriage she would have found some means of wriggling out of her union with Holland. Joan might be enamoured of that young man—so much so that she could not resist him—but her eyes would be on the crown which one day the Black Prince should inherit.

So there was too much talk of the Fair Maid of Kent, and not enough attention for the King’s beautiful daughter.

It was a state of affairs which must not be allowed to cootinue.

Isabella had become interested in a young Gascon nobleman. This was Bernard Ezi, whose father—also Bernard—was Lord of Albret and he had come to England when Isabella’s sister Joanna’s marriage was being arranged with Pedro of Castile. His son—Bernard the Younger—had accompanied him.

Young Bernard was very handsome, tall, charming and he and the Princess had become friends. In fact Bernard had fallen in love with Isabella.

Smarting from Louis’s rejection Isabella was very happy to accept his attentions and she decided that here was someone who adored her, in great contrast to Louis of Flanders.

How delighted he would be if she agreed to marry him. Naturally he would not dare aspire so high but led on by her he declared his passion and told her that the greatest joy in his life would be to marry her.

Isabella said she would speak to her father before he did. This was by no means orthodox Court behaviour. Penniless foreigners did not come to Court and ask for the hands of princesses. Isabella snapped her fingers. She could get anything she wanted from her father, she boasted. Did not Bernard know that the King loved her dearly that he could deny her nothing.