Виктория Холт - The Vow on the Heron

But Joanna had heard that before. She was firm. ‘I am happy,’ was her reply, ‘to remain in my native country, where I enjoy the love of those whom I can trust. I shall never return to Scotland.’

THE Princess Isabella declared that she had made up her mind not to marry and her father, indulgent as ever, seemed content that this should be so. She was twenty-seven years old and so it seemed that she really meant what she said. She had vindicated herself by cruelly jilting Bernard Ezi and she liked to hear the story repeated of how broken-heartedly he had given up everything in life. Then she could forget how Louis of Flanders had insulted her.

If she ever thought of Louis it was to congratulate herself on her escape, for his marriage with Margaret of Brabant had been far from felicitous. Margaret had died horribly and there were rumours that it was her husband’s doing. The story was that while he was away from Court Margaret had discovered that a particularly beautiful peasant girl had been his mistress and was to bear his child. In a fury of jealousy Margaret had had the girl seized, her nose and lips were cut off and she was imprisoned in a damp cell and left to die which she very quickly did. When Louis returned and sought his beautiful mistress and was told what had happened he was overcome by such fury that he put his wife into a dungeon similar to the one in which she had imprisoned his mistress. There was no window in this dungeon, only a hole through which bread and water were pushed daily. Either she was still there or she had died. Louis it seemed had no intention of setting her free.

‘Of course he is mad,’ said Isabella. And that seemed a good enough reason for jilting her.

Why should she, the beloved daughter of the King, whom everyone knew he loved more than anyone else in the world, want to exchange her comfortable existence for marriage.

Then take the case of her sister Joanna who had died of the plague near Bordeaux. Some said that she had met a happier fate than she could possibly have done had she married Pedro of Castile, who had already earned the name of Pedro the Cruel. He had neglected his wife and when she had died it was said he had poisoned her. He undoubtedly poisoned his father’s mistress Eleanor de Guzman and there were many others whom he had killed by extremely cruel methods.

No! Who would marry and take such chances?

The Princess Isabella was very happy in the state she had chosen—and so was her father. How often had he said to her that he was content to keep her near him.

Her sisters Mary and Margaret did not share her views. Moreover their father knew that he could not allow all his daughters to remain unmarried. Margaret was enamoured of John Hastings, Earl of Pembroke. John’s father had died when he was a year old and he had become a ward of the King. Consequently he had been brought up in the royal nursery and from an early age he and Margaret had always shared secrets and taken a great delight in each other’s company.

‘When I grow up,’ Margaret had said, ‘I am going to marry John Hastings.’

Isabella had laughed. ‘He is not good enough for a princess,’ she had told her haughtily.

‘John is good enough for anybody,’ Margaret had retorted. ‘Even you,’ she had added rather maliciously for Isabella’s overweening vanity was often commented on among her sisters.

Isabella replied that if he was not good enough for Margaret he certainly was not for her elder sister. But it was never wise to indulge in arguments with Margaret for Margaret could always get the better of anyone in that field. She was admittedly the cleverest of them all and she and John Hastings used to get together over their books and nothing could draw them away from them. At this time a young man who was a page in the household of Margaret’s brother, Lionel, Duke of Clarence, had caught their attention. His name was Geoffrey Chaucer and he was very interested in literature, a subject which intrigued Margaret. She had written poetry herself and she and John had read certain things written by this Geoffrey.

Isabella could not concern herself with a mere page so she knew very little about the young man but she did wonder what would be the outcome of Margaret’s infatuation with John Hastings. Mary was betrothed to another John, the Earl de Montfort, who had a claim to the Duchy of Brittany. His position at this time was not very secure and it was for this reason that there had been a delay in the marriage for Mary who was two years older than Margaret was of a marriageable age.

Isabella thought that if she had wanted to marry the Earl of Pembroke she would have done so. It would not have taken her very long to wring her father’s consent from him. Of course Margaret was not Isabella and everyone knew that the King could deny his eldest daughter nothing at all.

But Margaret was well aware of her father’s fondness for his children and even if Isabella was his favourite he dearly loved them all and particularly his girls.

She chose her moment well. For it was necessary to approach him when he was in the right mood, and as he was always glad and ready to see his daughters she had no difficulty in talking to him alone.

She took his hand and kissed it; then raised her eyes wistfully to his. She told him how she and John had always been inseparable in the nursery, how their interests were the same, how they wanted to be together for the rest of their lives.

‘Pembroke,’ said Edward rather teasingly, ‘not a very grand title for one of my daughters.’

‘It is the one I would rather have than any other.’

‘Bah, you are a love sick child.’

‘I am not a child, Father. I do know what I want, and that is to marry John and to live in England so that I may never be separated from you and my mother.’

It was inevitable. His eyes were glazed with affection. These dear girls of his! He could no longer bear to lose them than they could him.

He was a foolish old man, a doting father. Men would marvel at his weakness. But how could he refuse her?

She was smothered with kisses. It was a moment such as he loved.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you must go to your mother and tell her what you have decided. I have had no say in the matter.’

‘Dearest dearest Father,’ cried Margaret sincerely, ‘it is you who decide everything for us. If I did not know that you were happy with this I could not be either.’

‘It shall be a grand wedding, eh. I will show you that your father is not beyond dancing a measure with his daughter.

Philippa was delighted because she knew it was what Margaret wanted and she recognized that this, the cleverest of her children, needed a husband who was of her own kind. Margaret would be near her all her life and that was what she wanted. All her children should marry for love as she herself had. When she thought of the fate of poor sad Joanna of Scotland she rejoiced in her own marriage. Then there was her own daughter Joanna who had died it seemed fortunately of the plague. It was horrible to contemplate that a daughter of hers was better off dead than married to a monster—and one whom her parents had chosen for her.

She said to Edward: ‘I want to see them all make happy marriages. That is all I ask.’

‘You are a sentimental creature,’ said Edward, and she smiled at him. He knew what she meant. None could be more sentimental than he was ... but only where his family was concerned.

So Margaret was married and the King gave her a coronet mainly of pearls which he said was suitable on account of her name.

It seemed that marriages were in the air because a few months later her brother John of Gaunt was married to Blanche of Lancaster. John was nineteen years old, the most forceful of all the brothers next to the Black Prince. There were many speculations about the latter for he showed no sign of wanting to marry. Some said that he had wanted Joan of Kent about whom there had been a scandal when it was discovered that she had been living with Thomas Holland. And since she had left England for the Continent as the wife of another man the Prince had lost interest in matrimony. None was sure though, for he confided in no one, not even John Chandos.

The Black Prince’s life seemed to be dedicated to war and he was with every year taking on the mantle of his father. The same aura of invincibility which had been the First Edward’s and which now surrounded his father was without doubt inherited by him too; and what was so gratifying was that the father and son were in complete accord with each other. Brilliant warrior that he was the Prince never sought to usurp his father’s power and although he was in every way preparing himself to be King he showed himself in no way eager to inherit the crown before that time when it should come naturally to him. Apart from the fact that he declined to marry and give the country an heir, he was the perfect prince.

As David of Scotland was showing himself completely unworthy to wear the crown of Scotland and it seemed unlikely that there would be any trouble from that quarter, and as the truce with France had come to an end it seemed that the time was ripe to begin another invasion in the hope of gaining complete victory and possession of what Edward regarded as his rights.

He left England and once more Philippa was filled with misgiving. However Edward did not engage in battle because the Dauphin Charles refused to meet him and before he could be forced to do so a strange event occurred which appeared to be both to Edward and his army a sign of supernatural interference.