Виктория Холт - Passage to Pontefract

‘I must see you,’ he said.

‘When, my lord?’

‘You must come to my bedchamber.’

‘And the Duchess?’

‘I know not … but I will arrange something … I must. I yearn for you. I have ever since I left. There is no one like you, Catherine, no one … seeing you again, I know.’

She answered: ‘I know too.’

‘Then we must …’

‘But how, my lord? It will not be easy.’

‘But it must be. It must.’

* * *

She was right when she said it was not easy, but he contrived it. He had to. There was a small room in a part of the palace which was infrequently used. They met there.

There was a bed on which they made ecstatic love.

He thought of Constanza and the necessity to get her with child. He wished he had never let his ambition lead him into this marriage. The King of Castile. It was an empty title. It was one which Henry of Trastamare would never allow him to have.

It had been a reckless marriage. He should have remained free.

Suppose he had done so. Suppose Hugh Swynford died … Soldiers did die. They died like flies in hot countries. If it was not in battle it was in the fight with disease. Suppose he had married Catherine. How beautiful she would have looked in the robes of a duchess! How proud he would have been, and all the time they would have been together.

What mad dreams to come to an ambitious man. He could imagine the astonished fury of his father and of Edward. Edmund and Thomas would have been amused, though they did not count.

But he had married Constanza; he had become the King of Castile – and it might be a title that had some meaning some day; and these were wild foolish dreams which came to him only because he was in the thrall of an enchantress.

She was whispering to him now. ‘It will be necessary to be very careful.’

‘Careful. How can I be careful? I betray my feelings for you all the time.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you do.’

‘Then what am I to do?’

‘Go to Castile?’ she suggested.

‘Wherever I go,’ he said, ‘there must you be. I will not be without you so long again.’

And he lay there, knowing that his absence would be noticed; that hers would be too.

Surely it was only necessary to see them together to recognise this flame of passion which seemed as though it would consume them both.

The Black Prince came up from Berkhamsted to confer with the King. The Prince’s health had improved a little since his return to England but the periodic bouts of fever remained and when they came they were as debilitating as ever. He would lie in his bed frustrated and bitter. He had never really recovered from the death of his elder son and he worried continuously about Richard’s future.

At this time he was in one of his more healthy bouts and in spite of Joan’s attempts to dissuade him he insisted on going to Windsor.

The sight of the King shocked him as it did each time he saw him. Edward was growing a little more feeble every day, a little more doting on the ubiquitous Alice, and the image of the great King who had won the love and admiration of his people was becoming more and more dimmed.

The Prince thought: If he goes on like this the people will depose him. How much longer will they tolerate Alice Perrers? She behaves as though she is his chief minister and some inspired statesman instead of a rapacious woman, a harpy, just clinging to him for what she can get.

At the moment Aquitaine was the Prince’s concern.

‘I should never have left,’ he said. ‘John has made a great mistake.’

‘Well, he is King of Castile now.’

‘King of Castile,’ said the Prince contemptuously. ‘An empty title! How near is he to ever becoming the true King of Castile? What has this marriage done but brought Henry of Trastamare and the King of France closer together? They are allies now. Far from John’s reigning over Castile we shall find the French taking Poitou and Saintogne.’

‘You take too gloomy a view, my lord,’ said Alice.

The Prince felt ready to explode with fury. He deliberately ignored her and turned to his father. ‘It will be necessary to prepare ourselves. I can assure you that an attack will come before long. The French are not going to lose this advantage. I should have stayed.’

‘You were in no fit state to stay,’ said the King. ‘You are recovering now. You must wait until you are well.’

‘Yes,’ said the Prince bitterly, ‘wait until the French have robbed us of everything we possess. We must act without delay.’

‘The King will not go to France,’ said Alice sharply.

‘That is for the King to decide, Madam,’ retorted the Prince coldly. ‘My lord,’ he continued, turning to the King, ‘this is a matter of great importance. I think we should discuss it in private.’

‘We are in private, Edward,’ said the King.

The Prince raised his eyebrows and looked at Alice.

‘Alice is always with me. She understands what it is all about, do you not, Alice my love?’

‘I understand because it concerns you, my King,’ replied Alice smiling at him.

He is becoming senile, thought the Prince. What is going to happen? The French triumphant; myself sick; John, clever as he is, not a man to lead victorious armies, the King losing his wits and robbed of his strength by a harpy whose only thought is to feather her nest while the old man lives; my son Edward dead and a frail child all I have left! Oh God, what is happening to England? But a few years ago this great country was one of the most powerful in the world, ruled over by an able man. How in a few short years could God bring us so low!

I must regain my health. I must hold the Kingdom together before it is completely lost.

‘Then if we must discuss these matters vital to our country’s survival thus, I will send for John, for he should partake in our discussions.’

‘Yes, do send for John,’ said the King.

‘I hope he is enjoying his marriage,’ put in Alice rather maliciously. ‘Our King of Castile should be rather pleased with himself. There are rumours …’

The Prince gave an abrupt bow to the King and walked out of the chamber. If his father forgot the required etiquette so would he. He would not stand and listen to that low-born creature discuss his brother.

He rode to London and made his way to the Savoy Palace where he knew he would find John.

John was surprised to see him and declared that he was delighted that his health had obviously improved.

‘It is useless to attempt to talk to the King with that woman beside him,’ said the Prince impatiently. ‘I would not have believed this possible if I had not seen it with my own eyes.’

‘She seems to do what she will with him.’

‘The country will be ruined if this goes on. That marriage of yours was not very clever.’

‘I begin to see it now.’

‘What do you suppose the French will do? Make an alliance with Henry of Trastamare obviously. That is clear. You have no chance of winning Castile.’

‘I can see it will be a difficult task.’

‘And you will not achieve it by staying here in England.’

John’s heart sank. He had been foolish. There was no need to have married Constanza. He had allowed himself to believe that there would have been a quick conquest. He might have known that Henry of Trastamare would not be so easily disposed of; and clearly the French would take advantage of the situation. More fighting. More leaving Catherine.

He had been seduced by the glitter of a crown.

The Prince went on: ‘If I but had my strength again! I should never have left Aquitaine. If I had stayed …’

He paused in frustration.

‘What is done is done,’ said John. ‘Let us go on from there.’

‘That makes sense,’ replied the Prince. ‘We must make plans to send out a fleet to Rochelle without delay.’

The Prince’s health seemed to improve as he busied himself with the urgent work of preparing a fleet to sail to France.

He did not intend to go with it. Joan was determined to stop him and with his health in such a precarious state he had to agree that he might be a liability rather than of use.

The Earl of Pembroke should lead the fleet and they would set out as soon as weather permitted for Rochelle. In the meantime the Prince would gather together more men and arms ready to support the landing when it had taken place.

Pembroke set out in June. A few weeks later the disastrous news reached England that the fleet had been intercepted by the Spaniards, and scarcely a ship had been able to limp back to England. So many lives lost, so much treasure squandered!

The Black Prince was in despair. He went to the King and cried: ‘God has deserted us and I am not surprised.’

The King did rouse himself a little, and took his mind from the new jewels he was having made for Alice to think of the implication of this defeat.

‘Would you lose everything we possess in France while you dally with your leman?’ shouted the Prince. ‘I tell you this, my lord, if you persist in your indifference to your crown there will soon be nothing to give your mistress.’

‘You should remember that you speak to your King,’ retorted the King.

‘I remember I speak to my father who was once a great King,’ answered the Black Prince.

The King was shaken. It was true. He thought briefly of the glorious days. This son of his, of whom he had always been so proud and still was, was right of course. There must be a return to the old days of greatness. They were losing France and the Prince was hinting that if they continued thus they could lose England.

He roused himself. Alice’s jewels would have to wait. He would explain to her. She would not want him to lose his crown. He must tell her to try not to anger the Black Prince. She must be reminded that he would be the next King of England.

‘You are right, Edward,’ said the King. ‘We must act promptly. We must muster another fleet. We have to reach Rochelle.’

The Prince clasped his father’s hand.

‘If you can be as you once were, my lord,’ he said, ‘and if I can but keep my health, none will dare come against us.’

A few days later news came that the French had overrun Poitou and Saintogne.

The Black Prince had renewed his energies. He was urging on his father and brothers the need for immediate action. The King himself was aware of the danger and it seemed as though he was returning to his old vigour. Even Alice Perrers could not divert him from the purpose in hand.

But as the preparations went on the Black Prince’s health began to fail again. Joan urged him to take to his bed but he would not listen to her.

‘No, Joan,’ he insisted, ‘this matter is of the utmost urgency. The crown of England itself is in jeopardy. I have to hold it … for Richard.’

Joan knew that it was useless to protest. Frantic with anxiety she watched her husband leave.

‘I shall soon be back again.’

He did come back, sooner than she had expected. The weather was so bad that it was impossible for the ships to land on French soil; and while they were attempting to, the town of Rochelle surrendered. That of Thouars waited in vain for relief but when it failed to come the city gates were thrown open and French invaders moved in.

It was a disastrous defeat. The fleet returned to England having achieved nothing.

The Black Prince was in no state to continue making war. John had been right. He should never have attempted to go. His presence had made no difference because the fleet had been unable to land. All that had happened was that the fever had returned and after every bout he was a little weaker.

Gloom settled over the Court and the country. Alice only could arouse the King from his lethargy. He seemed to be telling himself that he must lose all that he had fought so hard to gain, that God did not favour his claim and had sent Alice to divert him from war and spend his energies in other directions. The Black Prince raged and fumed but he could only do it from a sick bed.

John of Gaunt realised that efforts would have to be made to hold the French possessions and that it would be his lot to try to save them.

Constanza had become pregnant and was pleased about this. She was aware that he had a mistress in the household and that she was the governess to his children by Blanche of Lancaster, but was not really grieved by the discovery, although some of her women thought she should be and should dismiss the brazen red-haired creature. Constanza shrugged her shoulders. She had not married John of Gaunt for love. He had seemed to her the means of winning back for her the throne to which she believed she had a right, and she still did not give up hope of doing so. If he would fight for her crown – and he would if the opportunity arose because it would be his crown too – she would be satisfied.