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.

It was Easter time and the weather had turned suddenly so cold that many of the English soldiers died because of it, collapsing and falling from their horses while riding. Nothing like it had ever been known.

It was the Monday after Easter Day when the storm broke. It came upon them suddenly; the air was full of darkness at midday and the hail rained down on the army. Then the sky was rent with such sound and fury as none of them had ever known before. Lightning streaked across the sky to be followed by utter darkness and the violent sound of the thunder.

Many of the soldiers believed that the world was coming to an end; many of the horses and men were struck by the lightning, and hailstones the size of eggs began to shower down on them.

This appeared without doubt to be a sign of divine anger and why should God visit his fury on Edward’s army? There was one answer to that and it was that God did not like the claim to the French crown and he was not going to allow the King of England’s efforts to be successful.

Edward was dismayed. Six thousand of his finest horses had been killed by lightning. One thousand of his men had suffered the same plight. The soldiers had turned to him expecting him to act.

But what could even the greatest soldier in the world do against the acts of God?

Edward saw only one way. He leaped from his horse and bare-headed with the hail beating down on him and the hideous lightning illuminating his face cried out: ‘Oh God, take away this storm. If I have incurred your wrath I will make amends. Let my army survive this day and I will make reasonable terms with the King of France. I will release him from bondage. I give my word on this.’

There was silence all about him. He lifted his eyes to the sky and it seemed that the lightning was less fierce, that the thunder was growing more distant.

The storm was passing. His vow remained, and it was not as a promise given to another King. This one he had made to God and he must keep it.

When he told his men that they were returning to England without delay there was a great shout of joy. Every man among them had had enough of war and the sign that God was not with them would have undermined any feeling they might have had for it.

Edward was fully aware of this. That was why he knew that he must abandon the fight.

Philippa received him with the utmost joy and King Jean was informed that he was to be released on payment of a smaller ransom. Edward stressed though that his sons would be requested to come to England as hostages until the sum was paid.

Jean left for France conducted there by the Black Prince and the Duke of Lancaster; and Philippa, delighted with this outcome of affairs in France, settled comfortably to enjoy having her family with her and for the moment at least out of imminent danger.


* * *

Joan of Kent had returned to Court, a widow. Her husband, Thomas Holland, had just died in Normandy where he had been on the King’s service, so there was nothing for Joan to do but return with her children to England.

Her arrival coincided with that of the Prince of Wales who had just returned from France whither he had been escorting King Jean.

The Prince appeared very pleased to see his cousin again. She was no longer young being thirty-three years old and the mother of three children but as soon as she returned to England he sent a silver beaker to remind her of him; and with it was a note welcoming his Cousin Jeanette back to England.

Joan was equally pleased to see him. She had found Thomas Holland a satisfactory husband and had been physically attracted to him but in her youth her secret ambition had been to marry the Prince of Wales.

It seemed strange to her that he had never married for she was sure some pressure to do so must have been brought on him. But Edward and Philippa had ever—contrary to royal custom—concerned themselves with the happiness of their children. And doubtless Edward had been firm in his inclination not to marry. Moreover there were other sons so the matter was not as pressing as it would otherwise have been.

Joan had no intention of remaining a widow and having married a man considered to be far beneath her socially she was now determined to pick the highest in the land. She had always been wily and if she was slightly less beautiful than she had been in her youth she made up for that by an increased astuteness.

She contrived to put herself in the Prince’s path and as he made no effort to evade her they were together often. He was two years younger than she was and to her dismay he seemed to have made up his mind that he would never marry. She was hurt and angry when he talked to her of the possibility of her doing so.

‘Oh, I shall not marry again,’ she answered and added untruthfully, ‘I have no wish to.’

‘Holland is so recently dead,’ replied the Prince. ‘You will change your mind later, I swear it.’

‘You do not know me, cousin,’ she answered.

‘Dear Jeanette, there are few I know better. We have grown up together.’

That was the trouble, she thought. He saw her as his cousin, the companion of nursery days. He was such a strange man. It was true that no one could understand what he really felt.

Still she was going to show him. He was not indifferent to women and clearly he liked her company. She was handsome enough still to be known as the Fair Maid of Kent. If she had grown a little plump it was becomingly so. She had always been the most beautiful woman at Court and refused to believe that she had moved in the slightest degree from that position.

Matters came to a head when Sir Bernard de Brocas, a very worthy and wealthy knight of Gascony, asked the King’s permission to marry her.

The King talked over the matter with the Prince because he knew of the friendliness between his son and Joan.

‘A good match,’ said the King. ‘Sir Bernard has served me well and I should like to reward him. The marriage would be a great one for him. She will bring him the family estates and I shall feel that I have rewarded him for his good service.’

The Prince nodded. As the only surviving member of her family the Kent title and estates had come to her. She was indeed a great heiress.

‘Of course,’ said the Prince, ‘she is a widow and will doubtless wish to have her say.’

‘We may trust Joan for that,’ replied Edward. ‘But it shall be known that I am agreeable to the match and it is only for her to agree to it. Perhaps, my son, you would speak to her and tell her my wishes.’

The Prince said he would do so and at the earliest opportunity sought out Joan.

He asked if he might speak to her in private.

Her heart was beginning to beat so wildly that she wondered if he would be aware of her excitement. Was this the moment? Had he at last made up his mind?

‘You are a widow, Jeanette,’ he said, ‘rich and by no means old. My father thinks you should marry again.’

She dared not look at him but she said quietly : ‘And you, Cousin. What think you?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I think you should.’

She closed her eyes. Her dream was coming true. He was going to suggest marriage. Princess of Wales, Queen in the not too far future.

‘As a matter of fact there has been an offer for you.’ ‘An ... offer I ‘

‘Sir Bernard de Brocas loves you dearly. He has spoken to the King.’

She stared at him blankly, angrily.

‘And the King,’ she said shortly, ‘what says he?’