Виктория Холт - The Hammer of the Scots

It had taken place in Sicily, in that sunny island where people had loved to sing and dance before they were conquered by the French. The freedom-loving Sicilians, restive under the French yoke, had plotted in secret and earlier that year – on Easter Day to be precise – they had risen against their enemies. The signal to rise had been the first stroke of the vesper bell and the Sicilians had slaughtered all the French on the island – eight thousand of them in all.

It was some time after it had happened that the news of the massacre reached England, and it never occurred to Eleanor at the time that this could be so important to her. It had far-reaching effects, however, and the Sicilians, having taken part in what had become known as the Sicilian Vespers, were almost immediately afterwards in terror of the powerful French. They had sought the help of Pedro of Aragon – the father of Eleanor’s husband-to-be.

The reason they had turned to Aragon was because Pedro’s wife was Constance, the daughter of the old King of Sicily, and they thought that if the crown of Sicily were offered to Aragon that country would not hesitate to come to their relief. They were right and Pedro was received in Sicily with great rejoicing.

It was hardly likely that the French would allow this state of affairs to continue. Charles of Anjou who had been the King of Sicily was very close to the English royal family because he had married Beatrice, the sister of the Queen Mother. Constance had been very anxious for the Princess Eleanor to come to Aragon, that she might forge a link with England which would be stronger than that already existing between England and France, on account of the relationship between Beatrice and the Queen Mother. Naturally the French were now extremely anxious that this betrothal should not take place.

Charles of Anjou very quickly regained his lost possession and the Pope was induced to reconsider the dispensation regarding marriages of royal people, and among these was that of Eleanor and Alfonso of Aragon who on the very recent death of Pedro had become the King.

The Pope therefore sent his envoys to the King of England with injunctions that the dispensation which had been granted for a marriage between England and Aragon was no longer valid; and the Pope added that he hoped the King of England would give up all intentions of forming an alliance with enemies of the Holy See who had joined with those who had used the bells of vespers as a signal for their uprising.

The King had returned briefly to Rhudlan, and even before he saw his new daughter Elizabeth he sent for Eleanor.

He embraced her fiercely.

‘Oh, my darling child,’ he said, ‘this is good news. There will be no Aragonese marriage. You are not to go to Aragon. You are staying here … with me.’

The colour flooded her face; her eyes were brilliant with joy. She had always been the most beautiful of his children. He could not take his eyes from her lovely face.

‘It seems you are made happy by this news,’ he said.

‘Nothing could have made me happier. It is the miracle I have prayed for.’

How they exulted! How they laughed together! ‘We must be serious,’ said the King. ‘We will pretend to be put out. How dare the Pope dictate to the King of England, eh? But the King of England is at war with the Welsh rebels and he would not risk a threat of excommunication at such a time, would he? Therefore we must do as the Pope wishes. This must be one of the few times a Pope’s orders have pleased a King of England.’

She clung to him. She would not let him go.

He stroked her hair and murmured endearments. There were many who would have been surprised if they could have seen the stern King’s expression of tenderness towards his eldest daughter.

At length he left her and went to his wife’s bedchamber.

He kissed her fondly. Dear Queen, who had given him the children he loved – and in particular her namesake, his eldest daughter.

‘Edward, another girl, I fear.’

‘Nay, my love, you should not grieve. I love my girls. And we have Alfonso. We must change his name e’er long. Alfonso is no name for a King of England. Shall we rename him Edward?’

‘No, Edward, no please …’

‘You do not like the name?’

‘I like it too well,’ she said earnestly. ‘I fear it might be unlucky.’

‘Then he shall stay Alfonso,’ and he thought, That boy will never mount the throne. And there is nothing wrong with a Queen of England.

* * *

By a strange coincidence the arrangements for Joanna’s marriage were brought to an abrupt termination.

When earlier that year Prince Hartman, Earl of Hapsburg and Kyburg, Landgrave of Alsace and son of the King of the Romans, had announced his intention of coming to England to see his bride, and if he had come that would have meant a betrothal and Joanna’s returning to his country with him, his visit was delayed. His father had been at that time engaged in a struggle of his own and he could not consider sending his son to England without an adequate bodyguard of his best soldiers. The plain fact was that he needed those men to fight his battles and so the visit was postponed. It was of no great matter, wrote Prince Hartman; he would come as soon as he and his men could be spared and then the Princess Joanna should leave with him and would continue her education in the royal house of Hapsburg.

There had been something ominous in that letter. He was determined to come and it was only a temporary postponement. Joanna did not see how she could escape her destiny. It was true that having been brought up in Castile and then sent to England she was not so averse to a change as her sister Eleanor had been. Joanna had the belief that wherever she was people would love and admire her. All the same she wanted to stay in England.

It was at Rhudlan that the news was brought to her father.

He sent for her, embraced her and told her that he had bad news for her.

‘There has been an accident,’ he said. ‘Prince Hartman was staying at the castle of Brisac on the Rhine and decided to visit his father. He set out and suddenly a fog arose. His sailors did not know where they were for it was so dense they could not see their hands when they held them before their faces. Their boat foundered on a rock. My dear child, Prince Hartman, your bridegroom-to-be, has been drowned. They have recovered his body from the river so there can be no doubt.’

‘Then there will be no marriage,’ said Joanna solemnly.

‘Well, you are but a child. We will find a husband for you as important, never fear.’

‘I have no fear, my lord, and I had no wish to go away.’

The King smiled fondly. What delightful daughters he had! Joanna was almost as beautiful as her sister Eleanor.

He said: ‘To tell you the truth, my child, I can feel no great sorrow in this for it means we are not going to lose you … yet.’

‘Perhaps when I marry it will be someone here … at home,’ said Joanna. ‘I know my sister hopes that she will.’

He smiled at her, well pleased.

‘Who knows,’ he said, ‘such good fortune may well be ours.’

Joanna lost no time in going to her sister.

They stared at each other wide-eyed.

‘So miracles do happen,’ said Eleanor.

‘If you will them to,’ replied Joanna.

They smiled secretly, believing they had made a great discovery.

Davydd had been right, Llewellyn told himself. He felt alive again. Only the prospect of regaining what he had lost could give him such an interest in life.

About the same time as the Sicilians were rising against the French and awaiting the signal of the vesper bell, he had aroused the whole of that part of Wales which remained in Welsh hands.

They were going to march against the English. The enthusiasm with which he was greeted amazed him. He was greatly admired. He was a man whom they could trust which was more than they could his brother Davydd. Davydd had been for the English at one time and then had done a quick change-about to the Welsh. He might be a good general but he was not a man to be trusted. It was different with Llewellyn. Llewellyn’s love story was recorded in song; the sad death of his wife had turned the idyll into a tragedy. Llewellyn was a popular romantic figure; and then there was Merlin’s prophecy.

In the beginning there were a few victories for Llewellyn. He even took Rhudlan Castle and held it briefly. But when Edward began his march north Llewellyn knew he could not hold the castle and wisely retreated. But the initial success was inspiring.

Edward’s wrath he guessed to be great, and he knew that it would be a powerful army which would be marching upon him, and the fact that it was led by the King himself would strike terror into all those who seemed to have endowed Edward with some supernatural power.

All through the summer the war continued. Edward was gaining on his enemies but it was no easy victory. There was an occasional success which greatly heartened the Welsh as when a large force of the English had crossed the Menai bridge and encamped there awaiting the rest of the army to join them. In the night the flood tide broke the bridge over the Straits and the English were cut off. It was an easy matter for the superior Welsh forces – who would have been easily defeated if the entire English army had been able to cross the bridge – to wipe out the stranded English.

‘A great victory,’ cried the Welsh bards. This was God’s will. It was like Moses dividing the seas, only this time God had sent the flood tide to smash the bridge. It was Merlin’s prophecy coming true.

But alas this was soon seen to be the little victory it was, and it was realised that it could have no effect on the outcome of the war when every day it was becoming more and more clear that Llewellyn and the Welsh were losing.

Once more Llewellyn was forced to retire to Snowdon. Here he brooded on his ill fortune, recalling the happy days with the Demoiselle and he cursed afresh the fate which had taken her from him.

If she had but lived, she would never have let him go to war. She would have kept him a prince of his small country and they would have been content.

What was there left to him now? He could not regain his power. He was no match for mighty Edward. He had lost everything that had made life worthwhile to him and he longed for death.

There in his mountain stronghold he was visited by John Peckham, who had taken the place of Robert Kilwardby as Archbishop of Canterbury and who had come to discuss the terms on which Edward would make a peaceful settlement.

These terms, said John Peckham, were reasonable and Llewellyn should accept them.

‘Reasonable!’ cried Llewellyn. ‘I see no reason in them. They will rob me of my country.’

And indeed they would, for Edward had set down that Llewellyn must abandon the Principality of Wales and give it to Edward in exchange for which he would place in Llewellyn’s possession lands to the value of one thousand pounds a year. These would be in an English county as yet to be decided on. The King of England would take charge of Llewellyn’s young daughter and would seriously consider the possibility of allowing any male heirs she might have to succeed to Snowdon.

‘Reasonable terms to offer a prince!’ cried Llewellyn. ‘My lord Archbishop, I do not understand you.’

‘You are a ruined man,’ replied the Archbishop. ‘And there have been abuses in the Welsh churches which have not pleased me.’

Llewellyn knew that he was defeated. ‘My lord Archbishop,’ he said, ‘I know that I must throw myself on the bounty of the King of England but I could not submit to such harsh terms. If the King of England will reconsider his demands it might be possible for us to come to some agreement.’

The Archbishop left and later Edward’s messengers came with the information that the King would accept nothing but unconditional surrender. He had made terms previously. He had kept his bargain. He had released the Demoiselle and seen her married to Llewellyn. And what had happened? Llewellyn had broken his part of the contract. The King could not trust him again and he – and all men – must see what happened to those who broke faith with the King of England.

There was only one thing to do. To retreat into the mountains, to call together faithful Welshmen, to remind them once more of the prophecy of Merlin and to defend the passes.