Виктория Холт - The Vow on the Heron

‘He says that he would wish to reward Sir Bernard and this would be a way of doing so.’

‘So ... I am to be a ... reward! ‘

‘You are an excellent match, Cousin.’

‘My family’s estates, yes. A good reward for a faithful servant.’

‘And you are very beautiful, Cousin.’

‘I had not thought you had noticed.’

‘You know full well how much I admire you.’

‘You have never deemed it fitting to tell me so.’

‘Why should I tell you what you know already?’

‘The answer is that I should have liked to hear it.’

‘Well then, ‘tis so, Cousin. I repeat you are a beautiful woman and a rich one. But I do not believe it is your estates alone that he considers. What is your answer?’

‘What would you have me do?’ she asked almost plaintively.

‘I would have you consider the offer.’

‘Then let me tell you this,’ she said. ‘I shall never marry again.’

He was surprised. ‘You do not mean that,’ he protested. ‘You are too young ... too beautiful to remain unmarried. I know that you have had many suitors.’

‘None that I would take,’ she said. ‘I hope the King does not plan to force me into this.’

‘Indeed he would not. He would only advise you.’

She turned to him and lifting her beautiful eyes to his cried: ‘You advise me.’

He took her hand and held it fast. ‘Sir Bernard de Brocas is a very worthy knight,’ he said.

‘Stop it! ‘ she cried. ‘Don’t say it. I will not listen.’ Then she sat on a stool and covered her face with her hands.

He stared down at her in amazement; then he knelt down beside her and drew her hands away from her face. Her eyes were feverish with excitement.

‘Dearest Jeanette, what is wrong with you? You must know that de Brocas is one of the most chivalrous knights in my father’s service.’

‘I will never marry him ... as long as I live. I cannot because ...’

‘You are in love with someone else!’ cried the Prince.

She did not deny it. She cried out: ‘You tell me Bernard de Brocas is a chivalrous knight. I am in love with the most chivalrous knight in the world. How can you ask me to take something less.’

‘Then perhaps ...’

She shook her head. ‘Nay,’ she said. ‘I cannot marry this man so I shall take no other.’

‘He has made you unhappy ... this knight. That does not seem to me a chivalrous act.’

She smiled wanly. ‘Nay, he knows not the extent of my love for him. It has ever been so and he unaware of it.’

‘Tell me his name.’

‘You know it well.’

He stood up and she rose and stood beside him.

‘I could never bring myself to tell you,’ she said.

‘Jeanette,’ he said, ‘you shall tell me. I must know. I want to do everything I can to make you happy.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, Edward, surely you know. Is it not clear? Who is the most chivalrous knight in the world? Who was the companion of my childhood? Whom did I love always? Surely you know.’

He looked at her incredulously.

‘The Black Prince,’ she said. ‘There has never been one to compare with him nor ever shall be and as I will take only the best I shall remain unmarried all the rest of my life.’

He continued to stare at her and the joy suddenly showed in his face. She had made up his mind for him. Jeanette! Of course it was Jeanette. The most beautiful woman at Court. She was the one he had been waiting for.

He kissed her hands fervently.

‘So all the time ... I was the one ...’

‘All the time,’ she said fervently. ‘Since I was small and you were small ... Even then it was only you.’

‘Yet you married Holland.’

‘Because I despaired. I would not take Salisbury whom I disliked. I thought it was no use waiting for you. There now, I have betrayed myself and you will despise me.’

‘I vow to God,’ said the Prince earnestly, ‘that I will not take any to be my wife but you—my dearest cousin, my Jeanette.’

She was triumphant. Why had she not done this before? It was so easy. This strange man whose thoughts were so wrapped up in military glory had only needed a woman to make up his mind for him.

She was alert to danger. What would the King and Queen say to the proposed match? Before she had married Thomas Holland they would have agreed to it; but she was no longer a favourite of the Queen. Philippa had not approved of the somewhat shady match with Holland when Joan had disclosed that she had already lived with him as his wife while pretend- ing she was going to marry Salisbury. Moreover Philippa had noticed the King’s eyes on the beauty. There was that incident of the garter. Philippa would not want her eldest son to marry a scheming woman. And the King. How could he feel about accepting as his daughter-in-law a woman whom he had once desired—for Joan knew well enough that he had and because he was the King she had given him several promising glances knowing full well that the high moral code he set upon himself would prevent their relationship straying beyond the boundary of flirtation.

They would both regard her as something of an adventuress and that was not the woman they would want as future Queen of England.

They would want someone like Philippa—stern, always aware of her duty.

And how determined was Edward? A short while ago he had been ready to offer her to Bernard de Brocas.

‘My dearest Edward,’ she said quickly. ‘I am bewildered by my happiness. So precious are you to me, for I have waited all these years never believing that my dreams would be fulfilled, that now I am afraid.’

‘You must never be afraid of anything with me beside you.’ ‘I am afraid they will try to stop our marriage.’

‘Nay, they never would.’

‘To please me, Edward. Do not tell anyone yet ... not until we have made our plans. Not until we can go to the King and tell him that we are set for marriage, that the plans are made and there can be no delay.’

To humour her, he agreed.

* * *

When Edward and Philippa heard that the Black Prince was going to marry Joan of Kent they were dismayed.

‘A widow ‘ cried the King. ‘A woman older than yourself.’

‘By two years,’ replied the Prince, ‘and I am not too old to beget sons, nor is she.’

‘The relationship is very close,’ put in Philippa.

‘I have already sent to Rome for a dispensation,’ answered the Prince. ‘There will be no difficulty in acquiring it, I am sure.’

Philippa was thinking: Will he be happy with her? It had really been disgraceful the manner in which she had pretended to be unmarried when all the time she had lived with Holland. Philippa would have liked her son to marry a gentle young virgin, someone who looked up to him and adored him—not an experienced woman, older than himself, full of wiles and who had already borne three children.

As for the King he thought: She will be a disturbing daughter-in-law ... She made him uneasy. There was flaunting sexuality about her, a quality which bothered him in women even more so than in the past. Philippa had aged more quickly than he had and she was so fat that she could not move about without difficulty. As he was getting older temptation came more often. No, he did not want a woman like Joan of Kent in the family.

But both of them saw that the Black Prince, after holding back for so long, was now all eagerness and was going to conduct his marriage like a military campaign. It was clear that nothing was going to deter him. He was no longer a boy and it appeared that he must have been waiting for his cousin as before he had shown clearly his lack of desire to marry and settle down.

Edward and Philippa discussed the matter together and they both agreed that they must accept the marriage.

News came from Rome that the dispensation was granted and would be sent to England. However, the Prince and Joan decided that they could not wait for it.

They were married in the Chapel at Windsor. The King was not present. Somehow he could not bring himself to see his son marry a woman who aroused such desires in himself. He felt too uneasy and it was better for him to stay away.

Joan guessed the real reason but she was content to let it be believed that the King was not entirely pleased with the marriage. What care I for that! she thought. Poor old Edward! He looked magnificent still, of course, but he was ageing a little. There was a good deal of white in the once golden hair. He was a little jealous of his son for having chosen such a voluptuous bride. She knew it, and she could understand it. Pious old Philippa was scarcely a siren these days.

They left Court soon after the ceremony for one of the Prince’s residences in Berkhamstead and as the King had granted his son all his dominions in Aquitaine and Gascony, the newly married pair left England and in a short time had set up a splendid Court which was sometimes in Aquitaine but more often in Bordeaux.

The whole family rejoiced when in due course, Joan gave birth to a son. He was called Edward, which seemed appropriate as he was in direct line to the throne.

BEFORE the birth of the Black Prince’s son, a tragedy had struck the family and it was one from which Philippa never recovered.

Now that her sons were moving away from her which was inevitable she was more and more in the company of her daughters. Isabella was like a queen in her own right and gave herself more airs than ever Philippa had. Philippa knew that the King was largely responsible for the behaviour of this overbearing daughter but the older he grew the more dotingly fond he became.

Margaret was married and was the Countess of Pembroke but she was too young to live with her husband and remained in her mother’s care.

Mary was older and wished to marry the Duke of Brittany to whom shehad long been betrothed. Edward had however delayed the marriage becauseof the uncertainty of the bridegroom’s position; but now, as the young people were eager for the match, he decided that it should take place.

So now both her daughters were married. The only one who was not was Isabella and she was twelve years older than Mary. Isabella it seemed would remain unmarried but she and Philippa had never been as close as the others; and Philippa knew that she must resign herself to parting with her daughters in due course.

She did not realize how soon and how tragically.

She had noticed for some weeks that Margaret seemed lethargic. She slept a great deal even during the day and seemed unable to rouse herself.

One morning Philippa’s women came to her in some distress and said that Margaret’s attendants were dismayed as they could not arouse her. Philippa, who had known for some time that there was something wrong with her daughter, went uneasily to her apartments where she found Margaret lying on her bed looking very tired.

‘What is it, my dearest?’ asked Philippa. ‘Are you feeling ill?’

‘Only tired, my lady. Very tired.’

‘Come, let me help you dress.’

Philippa tried to lift her daughter but Margaret fell back on to her pillows.

‘I beg you, dear Mother, let me stay as I am. I cannot get up. I am so very tired.’

In dismay Philippa sent for the doctors. They did not know what ailed Margaret but as the day passed she sank into a deep sleep.

‘Let her rest,’ said the doctors. ‘Then she may recover from her exhaustion.’

But Margaret did not recover. Quietly she slipped away from life.

Philippa was stunned. She had thought her daughter had been merely tired. It was not possible that she could be dead.

But she was. It was some disease which had never before been heard of; and it seemed it was fatal.

Philippa wept and shut herself away. If Margaret had been ailing she could have been prepared. But she had been so happy. She had loved her young husband dearly and he her. Poor boy. He was heart-broken; he came to Philippa and sobbed at her feet. She did her best to comfort him but it was useless.

It seemed as though the hand of God was against her for a few weeks after Margaret’s death Mary was struck with the same disease.

This time they were prepared for it and when the drowsiness attacked a second daughter Philippa and Edward had every physician of standing to come to their daughter.

It was no use. No one had any idea what the mysterious illness was and there was nothing to be done but watch the young girl’s strength slowly ebb away.