And there was the Queen—rosy-cheeked, a little buxom, kindly and splendidly gowned, her crown on her head, her silk gown embroidered with pearls and gold, her cloak of velvet trimmed with ermine. She might have lacked the outstanding beauty of the last Queen, but no one wanted to be reminded of her; and if there was something a little homely about Philippa’s countenance it shone with the softness of a good and kindly nature. She had made their King happy; she had given them their Prince; and already people were remembering little acts of kindness and the girl whom she had saved from execution.

The people of London were content with their King and Queen and little Prince. So they flocked to the Lists and they wanted to see their King triumphant.

It was like the days of great Edward all over again.

Philippa with her mother, Eleanor and a few of the noblest ladies mounted the tower, seated themselves and prepared to watch the pageantry.

The trumpets were sounding; the crowd were cheering; the royal procession to the Lists had begun.

The musicians walked before the horsemen, playing as they came. These were followed by the squires of the King’s household in their shining livery. Then the King himself. Edward’s love of dress was clearly shown, as for each day of the tournaments he had chosen different costumes. He had decided that on this day he and his knights should be disguised as Tartars, and ferocious they looked in long fur cloaks and high hats.

As he rode in the Lists Edward’s first glance was for the Queen in the gallery, seated there with her mother, his sister and the ladies of the Court. The King bowed low and the Queen immediately rose to return his greeting; as she did so everyone in the gallery rose too; and as they sat down there was a creaking sound, followed by a scream from one of the ladies, for the gallery seemed to reel and cave in and suddenly it had collapsed in a cloud of dust.

There was a moment of silence before pandemonium broke out. The King had dashed to the falling structure. Philippa, her gown covered in dust, her bright cheeks smudged with it, stood up. She was unharmed. The gallery had been made of light wood; it was too flimsy for the weight of the ladies and it had never been tested to see if it would take the weight of so many people.

‘Philippa,’ cried the King, ‘are you hurt?’

She laughed at him. ‘No, my lord. A little shaken. It was so sudden. I was not expecting it.’

It was a relief to discover that no one was hurt. People were crowding in on the scene and Edward shouted to them to stand back. He was clearly shaken and concerned for the ladies and in particular his wife.

‘How could such a thing happen?’ he demanded.

‘Well, we are safe,’ Philippa reassured him. ‘Only a little shaken and our gowns dirty. Oh, Edward, I hope it has not spoilt the day for you. You must not let it.’

She had seen a frown gathering on Edward’s brow and she knew what that meant. He was angry. She dreaded his anger. She had seen very little of it and it had never once been directed against her, but she had heard of the Plantagenet temper. It seemed most of them had it, and in some it was more violent than in others. Henry the Third and King John used to lie on the floor and bite the rushes in their accesses of rage; Henry the Third had only mildly possessed it and Edward the First had had it under control, as this Edward would; but there were occasions when it would break out and this was one of them.

‘I want the men who built this gallery found and brought here to me,’ he said. There was a brief pause. ‘Find them,’ he shouted, ‘and bring them to me without delay.’

Philippa said gently: ‘It is all over. We are not harmed. Such accidents can happen.’

‘Such accidents can happen only once in my kingdom,’ he retorted. He looked at her pleasant face smudged with dirt and her torn gown. His Philippa, who might so easily have been killed. The thought of what could have happened to Philippa enraged him still further.

‘Why is there this delay?’ he shouted. ‘Find those men. Bring them here. By God, they will wish they had never been born.’

Philippa laid her hand on his arm but he shrugged it aside. He was intent only on giving vent to his anger.

The men had been found. They came fearfully and the expression on their faces when they saw the fallen gallery and dishevelled ladies set them trembling. The King, looking ferocious in his Tartar’s robes, demanded to know why this had happened.

The men could only stare blankly.

‘Why was it not tested to see if it would stand the weight?’

‘My lord ... there was not time,’ said their spokesman. ‘It was only finished an hour or so before the joust was to begin.’

‘You fools, you knaves ... do you know this could have cost the Queen her life?’

Philippa said quickly: ‘My lord, it was light and flimsy. We could have had a fall at the worst. See, I am not harmed at all.’

But the King would not listen. He was whipping himself to fury, exaggerating the damage, intent on inflicting the utmost punishment on these careless men whose shoddy work had spoilt the day and could have caused harm to the Queen.

‘Take them away from here,’ he shouted. ‘Put a rope around their necks and let them be hanged until they be dead.’

There was a hushed silence in the crowd. One of the workmen, only a boy, fell to his knees and began to whimper.

The King turned his face away and shouted : ‘Take them away. Let it be done.’

Philippa was horrified. She thought of the families of those men, robbed of the breadwinners; she thought of the loves of wives for their husbands and mothers for their sons and she would not let it happen.

She knelt suddenly before the King. She took his hand and said: ‘My lord, you have said that you love and honour me. You have showered many gifts on me. There is nothing I want more than the lives of these men. If they die by the rope I shall remember them all my life. I have suffered no harm. Nor have these ladies. The gallery was erected in a hurry. Please, my lord, I beg of you, as you love me, spare these men.’

The King looked at her, with her hair loose about her shoulders and her dear kind eyes full of tears; the grief apparent on the face which he was accustomed to see merry and content.

He hesitated and she waited, watching him.

Then she said: ‘My lord, if you will not grant this request, I shall never be completely happy again. I shall always remember what was done to these men who wished me no ill and are your loyal subjects.’

The King said : ‘Let the men go free. My Queen pleads for them with such passion that I cannot resist her.’

The Queen covered her face for the tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. There were sudden deafening cheers. They filled the streets; the people were surging forward.

‘God bless the Queen!’ they cried. ‘God bless good Queen Philippa.’


* * *

The Countess returned to Hainault happy with her visit to England. There could be no doubt of Philippa’s happiness and she certainly seemed the most fortunate of princesses to have enjoyed a happy childhood and to slip so easily into a happy marriage.

There was one matter of concern to Philippa. She knew that the celebrations given in honour of her mother had been very costly, and her frugal outlook on life would not let her accept this. She compared her own country with England; a small country but with a rich economy; she decided it was because the people of Hainault worked harder than the English.

She talked to Edward about this and he was at first amused by her but after a while he saw that she was talking sense. It was true that the economy of the country was not flourishing. There was a great deal of poverty in certain areas. Through the reign of his father and of Mortimer there had been no thought of making the best of the country’s resources; wealth was appropriated and absorbed by favourites who used it not for the good of the country but for their own pleasure.

She had seen at once that the wool produced in England, which was reckoned to be the best in the world, would be more profitable to the country if it were made into cloth instead of the wool’s being exported to the Low Countries, there to be made into cloth and brought back to England.

Edward considered this and could see the logic in it.

Our people are not weavers,’ he said. ‘They do not care to work as hard as the people of Flanders. They like to keep their sheep, watch over them, and wait for the shearing time.’

They would be more prosperous if they worked harder. A country needs prosperity, Edward. It is happier because of it.’

He conceded this. ‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ he said.

‘I want to send for some cloth weavers to come to England and set up a colony of weavers here. Then we can make our own cloth ... a little at first, and then increase it. I would like to see English cloth—not only wool—the best in the world.’

‘Well, my wise Queen, let us proceed with this.’

‘So I have your permission to write to one I know who excels in the craft?’

‘My dearest wife and Queen, you have indeed.’

Philippa immediately wrote to a certain John Kempe of Flanders. If he would come to England with his servants, apprentices and everything he needed to carry on his business he would have the protection of the King; and it was his wish that they should build up a flourishing cloth-weaving industry in England.

Philippa was delighted because she fully believed that hard work was the way to prosperity.

There was a great deal that John Kempe wanted clarified before he could take this great step. But the project had started and although it took a year or so to be put into action, Philippa’s wisdom was in due course responsible for the setting up in Norfolk of a cloth-making industry which was to bring prosperity not only to Norfolk but to the whole of England.


* * *

The Princess Eleanor was to be married. Oddly enough the prospect excited her. There was something about the Earl of Gueldres which fascinated her. It might have been that she heard so much from Philippa of the romantic meeting between her and Edward, how they had loved at first sight and the evidence of her own eyes told, her how happy that had turned out to be.

Eleanor was only thirteen years old but many girls were married at that age; Philippa herself had not been much older and it seemed that the King was satisfied with the Earl of Gueldres as a husband for his sister.

Philippa wondered whether Edward still thought about taking the French crown. If he did he would need friends on the Continent. Her own marriage had really come about because of an alliance between two countries. If Queen Isabella and Mortimer had not needed an army they would never have consented to a match between Hainault and England. Philippa shuddered at the thought of how much her happiness had depended on chance.

Eleanor discussed Raynald with Philippa and Philippa encouraged her for she knew from Edward that he had decided on the match; therefore if Eleanor could fall in love with her future husband Philippa would be delighted.

‘There is something rather exciting about him,’ said Eleanor with a smile.

Philippa agreed that there was indeed.

‘Of course he is rather old ...’

Eleanor waited for Philippa to defend age which she did promptly. ‘There is a great deal to be said for experience,’ she commented.

‘Would you have loved Edward if he had been married before?’

‘I should have loved Edward whatever had happened to him,’ said Philippa vehemently.

‘Suppose he had had four daughters?’

‘I should have loved them as I did his sisters.’

‘I suppose daughters are different from sisters.’

‘It would have made no difference,’ declared Philippa. ‘If one loves nothing can make any difference.’

‘Do you think he is handsome?’

‘Very! ‘ said Philippa.

‘They call him Raynald de Swerte in his own country. Do you think he is swarthy? He is very dark of complexion is he not?’

‘It is most attractive. It makes him seem strong, a little fierce ... as a man should be.’

‘You must prefer fair men. Edward is so fair.’

‘I do not love him for the colour of his hair.’

‘No, one does not. In truth I think a little swarthiness is rather attractive.’

‘And so do I,’ said Philippa. ‘But don’t tell Edward.’ Eleanor laughed. How comforting they were, these conversations.