The Hammer of the Scots (40 page)

And now there was the young Elizabeth – two years older than Edward and betrothed to John of Holland. John had been in England some time and was therefore not a stranger to Elizabeth. He was a mild boy and he would be a gentle husband, but Elizabeth had often told her father how much she hated the thought of leaving England.

Of course he should have been as other kings. He should have
ordered
his children to obey him, and if they rebelled enforced obedience. But he loved them so tenderly, and to have been harsh with them would have meant as great an unhappiness for him as for them. The fact was that he had been brought up in an atmosphere of family devotion – no one could have had more devoted parents than he had – and he had accepted it as a way of life. There were times when it was rewarding. He and Eleanor had been so happy with their children; but there was the other side of the coin. Love and indulgence often meant anxiety.

It certainly did with him. If he had been a less fond father would he be worrying about his children now?

The Earl of Holland had been killed recently and John, Elizabeth’s betrothed, was his heir. There had been a certain mystery about the death of John’s father, Florence, Earl of Holland. Edward had been watchful of him since the death of the Maid of Norway, for the Earl of Holland was one of the descendants of the Scottish Princess Ada, a daughter of one of the brothers of William the Lion: and Florence had been disappointed when John Baliol was chosen as the King of Scotland. From that time he had shown himself to be more a friend of France than of England. He had even gone so far as to promise France his help against the English if Philip paid him well for it, which of course would have meant the end of the proposed alliance with Elizabeth.

Edward could snap his fingers at that for Florence’s son John, who had been sent to England to be brought up there, was still in the country. John, when informed of the position, told Edward that he considered himself bound to Elizabeth, and as he had received nothing but good at the hands of his future father-in-law, he would stand with Edward against his own father.

Florence had had a number of mistresses and had thereby acquired numerous illegitimate children, so he had a ready reply.

‘Since my legitimate son sees fit to flout me I will disinherit him. I have worthy bastard sons and can put one of them in his place.’

Edward was shocked at such a suggestion and he wrote earnestly to Florence pointing out the folly of his behaviour. The threat had not pleased some of his subjects either and they began to plot against him. Florence had many enemies, among them one of his ministers, Gherard de Valsen, who had his own very special reason for hating him, because Florence had wished to marry off one of his mistresses and had chosen Valsen as her husband. This questionable honour was indignantly refused by Valsen, first because he was about to marry the woman of his choice and secondly because even if he were not, he had no wish to take one of Florence’s cast-offs. Florence was furious and determined to revenge himself on Valsen. A few months after the latter’s marriage, Florence set a band of ruffians to kidnap Valsen’s wife and carry her off to one of his castles. There he was waiting for her. He raped her and sent her back to Valsen, saying that Valsen was wrong, he had married one of the Earl Florence’s mistresses.

This was his death warrant, for Valsen now placed himself at the head of his enemies and determined on revenge. The plan was to kidnap Florence and this was immediately put into action, and when Valsen had Florence in his power he taunted him with what would be done to him and declared that his revenge would be bitter. Before this threat could be carried out, some of Florence’s friends tried to rescue him. The attempt was foiled and in desperation Valsen persuaded his fellow conspirators that Florence must die. He was brutally murdered and his body mutilated.

Young John was declared Earl of Holland.

The general opinion was that Edward had been involved in the conspiracy with Valsen. This he denied and invited the Dutch nobles to come to England and discuss the marriage of their Earl with his daughter. They came and the marriage was agreed on. It should, said Edward, take place without delay.

The King summoned the Bishop of London to Ipswich where the marriage was to take place.

Prince Edward came to Ipswich with a magnificent train and his sister Margaret was also present. She was still in England having constantly put obstacles in the way of joining her husband in Brabant, and the King, knowing the character of her husband, had not attempted to persuade her.

This was an important occasion for the town of Ipswich and the people came out in thousands to cluster round the church and see the royal bride and her groom.

There was a great entertainment and the King had summoned the finest minstrels, tabourers, clowns and lute players from all over the country. There was dancing and feasting, with mummers to entertain the company and wine even for the people in the streets.

When the festivities were over it was intended that Elizabeth should leave for Holland, and preparations were made for her departure.

But Elizabeth did not want to go. She refused to leave her chamber and the King, hearing of this, stormed in and demanded to know what was wrong with her.

She threw herself at him and put her arms about his neck.

‘My dear lord, I cannot leave you.’

‘Now, now,’ said the King, ‘you are no longer a child. You have a husband and your place is with him.’

‘Dear Father, you will be going to Ghent very soon. I want to wait and go with you.
Please
, Father, let me stay a little longer with you.’

‘My dear child,’ replied the King, ‘everything is arranged. Those who are going with you are ready to leave. You cannot decide at this time that you will not go.’

‘I cannot bear to leave you.’

‘Your love gratifies me,’ said the King, ‘but you
must
go, my child. Mayhap we shall meet in Ghent. There. How is that?’

She stood back from him. She looked very beautiful with her long fair hair flowing from the coronet which crowned it.

‘I shall not go,’ she said firmly.

‘You are to go,’ he replied.

‘I cannot. I
will
not.’

‘How dare you disobey me?’ cried the King.

‘Dear Father, I do not wish to disobey you. But how can I leave my home? If our mother were here …’

It was too much. There were so many burdens on his shoulders. He was suddenly furiously angry. His daughters defied him all the time. He had been too lenient with them. They thought because they were pretty and he and Eleanor had always made much of them, they could do what they liked with him. In an access of anger he snatched the coronet from her head and threw it into the fire.

She cried out in dismay. It was her most valuable piece of jewellery.

‘My lord,’ she cried and dashed to the fire.

He held her back. ‘You will see,’ he said, ‘that you owe everything you have to me. All I ask in return is obedience. Oh, God, who would have daughters!’

Elizabeth burst into tears. ‘You do not love us any more. You do not love me. You have thrown my coronet into the flames. Oh Father, you cannot love me.’

Then the thought of the valuable jewels which the coronet contained was too much for her. She rushed to the fire and retrieved the coronet. It was blackened and two of the stones were lost.

She dropped it for it was very hot and it fell to the floor between them. The King kicked it aside and was about to stalk out of the room when she caught his arm.

‘Father, it is because I cannot bear to leave
you
.’

He felt himself softening. ‘Have you burned your fingers?’ he asked.

‘A little perhaps.’

‘Foolish child.’

‘It was my finest jewellery,’ she said and she began to laugh.

He could never resist their laughter. Eleanor had once said that few things made her as happy as to hear their children laugh, and he had agreed with her.

‘Oh, dear Father, you are smiling. I think you are no longer displeased with me. If you are not I am so happy … and if I can stay with you a little longer … just a
little
longer until you go to Ghent …’

He frowned. Then he said gruffly: ‘Very well. You shall remain until then. And when I leave,’ he went on sternly, ‘you will have to remain with your husband.’

She was disobedient like her sister Joanna, but they loved him and he was pleased that she so hated to leave him.

He longed to be in Ghent where, he trusted, Eleanor, the dearest of all his daughters, would be with him. Dear Eleanor, who was herself in such a tragic situation. He would be able to talk to her of his coming marriage. She would understand.

At last he had arrived and she was there waiting for him. He forgot all ceremony at the sight of her, his dearest child.

‘My sweet child,’ he said, embracing her.

‘Oh dear Father, how I have longed to see you.’

‘You are unhappy, I know.’

‘There is no news of him.’

‘We
must
bring about his release.’

‘Oh Father, if only you could. I and the children long for his return.’

He would do everything within his power, he told her. He thought that after his marriage he might be able to do something.

‘Eleanor, my child,’ he said, ‘you do not think I am wrong to marry again?’

‘I have often wondered why you did not before,’ she answered. ‘You are a man who loves a family life and it has been hard for you since our mother died.’

He had known she would understand. Eagerly he told her of his hopes for Blanche and how the King of France had deceived him and was offering Marguerite.

Eleanor shuddered. ‘The King of France is a ruthless man,’ she said. ‘I have reason to know that. They say the first thing that one notices about him is his handsome looks. Then one realises that he is harsh, cruel, vindictive … and ambitious.’

‘I have learned that he is not to be trusted and I shall remember that.’

‘Dear Father, it may well be that you will be happier with Marguerite than with this renowned beauty, whose praises have been sung throughout Europe. That could well have made her a little conceited. Marguerite in her shadow may well be the wife for you. You remember how gentle and kind our mother always was. My grandmother had a reputation for great beauty, and although we loved her dearly we all knew how she thought it always right that she should have her own way. I have heard my mother say that she could never compete in looks with her mother-in-law. But we know, dear Father, how sweet was her disposition.’

‘My comforter,’ he said fondly. ‘I knew you would be.’

He felt relieved and happy and determined that he would do everything possible to bring her husband out of captivity. It should carry some weight that he was ready to marry the younger sister of the King of France when he had been promised the elder.

How pleasant it was to be with her though the pleasure was marred by the twinges of anxiety he felt about her health. She had aged considerably since she had left England, which was small wonder since she had suffered so much. He had been so happy that she, married late, should have at last made a love match. But how cruel was fate to rob her of her husband so soon. Fortunately she had her dear children. How he loved his grandchildren and Eleanor’s in particular, simply because they were hers.

He must make the most of this visit.

She had brought for him as a present a leather case beautifully enamelled and fitted with a comb and mirror, and he had told her that he would treasure it as long as he lived.

That was a happy Christmas at Ghent. Margaret was there with her husband, and although she was scarcely happy in her marriage she seemed to be reconciled to it. He had heard that she had received several of her husband’s illegitimate children and treated them with kindness. Poor Margaret, she was in no position to protest he supposed, but he imagined what Joanna would have been like in such circumstances.

Elizabeth was present and he hoped she would make no more scenes about leaving him. Of course he was flattered that his girls loved him so well. It was a pity they had to grow up.

But his main concern was with Eleanor’s health. He was sure that she pretended she felt better than she did because she knew he was worried.

He
must
get her husband returned to her. Once he was married he would do it. That brought him back to the thoughts of marriage. Was he wise? He would soon be sixty. He was virile still. Of course he should have married four or five years ago; he should have considered it immediately after Eleanor’s death. No, he could not have done that. It would have seemed so disloyal. He needed more sons really. He had his beloved daughters and he would not have changed them for boys … but a king should have sons and he had only Edward.

Edward did worry him a little. He was not growing up quite as his father would have wished. He was clever enough but he would not apply himself, and he surrounded himself with companions of questionable reputation. He would grow out of that for he was young yet. He was tall and good-looking. That was an advantage. The people like a handsome king and above all a tall one. It was fitting for a king to tower above his subjects.