The Hammer of the Scots (33 page)

He would have to make plans to march up there with all speed. Gone was his dream of an easy victory.

Civil war was threatening in Scotland.

There was no longer a direct heir to the throne. David, brother of William the Lion, had had no sons; but he had had three daughters. The eldest and youngest of these had a grandson living and the second daughter had a son.

The grandson of the eldest daughter was John Baliol and he believed he had first claim to the throne. Robert Bruce, however, son of the second daughter, reckoned he had the stronger claim because he was a generation nearer to William the Lion. The grandson of the youngest daughter was John Hastings whom Edward had made a Marcher Baron. Edward favoured this Hastings but he knew it would be generally accepted that Baliol and Bruce came before him.

These two were of the Scottish aristocracy but were as English as they were Scottish through their upbringing. They had possessions in England where Baliol owned Barnard Castle in Durham and though Bruce’s estates were in Scotland he had served as Sheriff of Cumberland. He was an old man but had a son Robert who would be considered one of the main claimants.

Edward could see that his presence was needed in the north and he prepared to set out without delay.

Since the Queen had accompanied him to the Holy Land she had made it a practice to follow him in battle, and although it was not always possible for her to be on the scene she was never far behind.

When she heard they were to go to Scotland she was very uneasy. It was so disappointing after she had believed she would remain at Windsor to welcome the little newcomer to the royal nursery. It was more than disappointment: it was fear. She had become aware that the strenuous journeys were too much for her and she was becoming exhausted by the least exertion.

To have explained this to Edward now would have added to his anxieties so she went ahead with her plans to follow him.

Edward took his farewell of her telling her they would soon be together and she set about making her preparations.

In due course she was ready and started the journey north. The dampness of autumn seemed to seep into her bones, increasing their stiffness. She felt too ill to ride, and was carried in a litter which slowed the journey considerably.

Her daughter Eleanor had insisted on accompanying her for she was aware of her mother’s growing weakness, and it became apparent as they progressed that she was going to have a bout of that fever which often came to her in the autumn.

‘My lady,’ said the Princess, ‘I think we should remain awhile at Herdeby until your fever has abated.’

‘Your father will wonder what has delayed us.’

‘He would not wish us to travel while you are so sick.’

‘It is nothing,’ said the Queen. ‘I have had this before.’

‘Nevertheless I think you should rest here awhile.’

The Queen shook her head but when the time came for them to move on she found she could not rise from her bed.

The Princess was deeply concerned. She went to one of the couriers and told him to go with all haste to the King and tell him that she feared the Queen was very sick indeed.

He left at once and the Princess went back to her mother for she insisted on nursing her herself.

‘Why, my dear child,’ said the Queen, ‘would you make an invalid of me?’

‘You are sick,’ replied the Princess, ‘and I am going to nurse you back to health.’

Even as she spoke her voice faltered. She had known for some time that the Queen was growing weaker. She had seen the gradual deterioration which her mother had taken great pains to conceal from her father.

That was why the message she had sent to her father informed him that the Queen was very ill indeed and that his presence might well be needed at Herdeby.

Of course he could not leave Scotland. He was engaged in important matters, the outcome of which could be war with the Scots. How unfortunate that the Maid of Norway had had to die when she did. If she had lived her father would not have had to go to Scotland; he would have been with her mother; she would not have had to start on that long journey. Oh, it would have been so different.

But in her heart the Princess knew that her mother was ailing and had been for some time. That dreadful fever which attacked her periodically had sapped her strength, and even when she recovered from it she had seemed a little weaker afterwards.

She sat by her mother’s bed.

‘I rejoice that your father does not know …’ whispered the Queen.

The Princess did not tell her that she had sent word to him how ill she was. That would only worry her. It would worry him too up there in Scotland where this threat of war would have to be evaded if possible.

A few days after the message had been sent the Queen took a turn for the worse. The Princess was shocked when she went into her mother’s bedchamber. The once-beautiful face was pale, the lovely eyes a little glazed.

‘Daughter,’ whispered the Queen, ‘is that you?’

‘Dear Mother, I am here. I shall always be here when I am needed.’

‘You have been such a good child. He was so proud of you … He loves you well … better than any of them … Sometimes I think better than anyone.’

‘You were always first with him, dear Mother.’

She smiled faintly.

‘I was so proud … Eleanor … proud that he loved me. He is a great man, a great king. There are few like him …’

The Princess said: ‘Please, Mother, do not speak so … as though …’

‘As though I am going. I
am
going, my child. I know it. I have known for some time that I was growing weaker. I kept it from him … But now … I can hide it no longer. My life is ebbing away.’

The Princess laid her head on the bed that her mother might not see her tears.

She said in a muffled voice, for pretence was no longer possible: ‘I should send for a priest.’

‘In a moment, dear child. Not yet. This will be our last talk. Life has been good … so good. I loved him from the moment I saw him. I could not believe my good fortune … and then when you were all born … I loved you all. My children … my dear girls … my little Edward. God bless you all. I must go now and face my Maker …’

‘You have nothing to fear, dear lady. There has been nothing but goodness in your life.’

‘I have sinned, daughter. There are acts I would rather not have done. The Jews …’

‘You must not worry yourself about them. They are no concern of yours.’

‘I trust too many of them did not suffer badly. I fear they did. To be turned away from their homes …’

‘It was not your fault, Mother.’

‘I loved worldly goods too much. I set up treasures on earth. It was because before I married Edward I had so little. I was overwhelmed by all that came to me then. Yes, I thought too much of worldly goods. Some of my estates … you know those which came to me through the Jewish usurers. You know I joined with them to get the estates of Christians who were in difficulties and borrowed money … It was wrong, I wish I could go back over my life …’

‘We none of us can. And if you have loved treasures and money, you have loved also your husband and your children. The people have loved you. They never hated you as they did our grandmother. If you worked with the Jews to extract payment from those who had borrowed money, you should not blame yourself now. If they had not borrowed they would never have been in difficulties. You have confessed this sin. Now think of all the goodness you have brought into the world. How you have stood beside your husband … and your children …’

‘You comfort me, daughter.’

The Princess bent over her mother and kissed her clammy forehead.

She knew it was time she sent for the priest.

Edward was nearing the Scottish border when the messenger arrived.

‘From my daughter? From the Queen? What news?’

‘My lord,’ said the messenger, ‘the Princess would have you know that the Queen is grievously sick and she greatly fears that she will die.’

The Queen sick! About to die!

He felt as though everything he had built up was collapsing about him.

Trouble in Scotland … but what was trouble in Scotland when his Queen Eleanor was about to die?

He was silent for a long time, thinking of her. There were so many memories. All dear to him.

One of his knights came into his tent and seeing him as one dazed, said, ‘My lord, what ails you?’

He answered then. ‘It is the Queen. She is sick … dying maybe. We are turning back.’

‘My lord, the Scots …’

‘We are going to ride with all speed to Herdeby,’ said the King firmly.

Through the night … the miles passed by slowly. How long it took. He was frantic.

He thought of her. Yes, so many memories … The little girl they had brought to him. ‘She is to be your bride.’ How meek she was. How pliable! How easy to please! The little Princess from Castile. And when she grew older she was beautiful. The only time she had defied him was when she had said she was coming with him on his crusade. ‘A wife and a husband should be together,’ she had said. Thank God she had. He was sure he would have died from the poisoned knife of that murderous assassin if she had not been there. She had sucked the poison from the wound. The doctors had said it was the cutting away of the gangrenous flesh which had saved his life. But in his heart he had always believed this was due to Eleanor’s act.

Then the birth of the children. How sad she had been because again it was a girl! So many girls. He loved them all. His beloved daughters … his and Eleanor’s.

And now she was going to die.

It could not be. His daughter was frightened because her mother was ill. She was not going to die. Eleanor would never leave him. He needed her. He could not imagine his life without her. Always on his travels she had been with him … in the thick of the fight she had never been far behind.

He would take her in his arms. He would say: ‘My Queen, my love. You must be well … for me.’

So through the night. How far it was!

His daughter met him. Her face was pale, her eyes tragic.

He took her into his arms. His beloved daughter, the best loved of all his children.

‘My dearest …’

She could not speak. She could only shake her head. So he knew.

He went into the chamber of death. He looked at her lying there white and still … and beautiful. She had always been beautiful, in life … in death.

He knelt by the bed.

‘Too late,’ he whispered. ‘Too late to see her alive, to tell her once more what she has meant to me. If I could but bring her back, I would give anything … anything …’

The conquest of Wales, the coming conflict with Scotland … In this moment they meant nothing, because Eleanor was dead.