Chapter XIII
BETRAYAL
Queen Marguerite was travelling north from Canterbury where she had paused to make offerings at the shrine of St Thomas. She was pregnant and delighted with her state. It was an achievement to have conceived so early and she prayed to St Thomas to give her a healthy boy and at the same time preserve her own life.
Edward was marching north. He had told her that he would like her to be near him as his first wife had always been; and she, who felt that she must try to be as much like that first and well-beloved wife, was eager not to fail in her duty.
If she could give him a son how delighted she would be. Even the sainted Eleanor had only left him one son among all those daughters, although she had had several who had lived for a while and then died.
Poor Edward, she knew that he suffered great anxieties. His son Edward was proving to be too wild for his father’s comfort and that of the nation. There had been complaints about the life he led with his chosen companions and the King had confided in her that he dreaded to think of what might happen when he died and his son came to the throne.
He had said that he would like to spend more time with the younger Edward. But there was always pressing business to engage his attention. He had had the trouble in France and now as soon as he was home it was to hear that this upstart William Wallace was making trouble in Scotland.
The matter was very serious and depressed him greatly. She thought how overjoyed he would be if she could send him news that they had a son.
She was greatly impressed by the grandeur of Canterbury and she listened intently to the Abbot who told her how St Thomas had been done to death by the King’s knights and the spot where it had happened had become a holy one. He told her how miracles had been performed there on the stones where the blood of the martyr had fallen and she had knelt and begged the saint to look down on her and give her a son.
From Canterbury she and her retinue travelled north and crossed the Humber into Yorkshire. She was making for Cawood Castle, a country seat belonging to the Archbishop of York, but because there had been some delays on the journey she realised that it would be unwise to go further, and they came to rest at a little village on the banks of the Wherfe called Brotherton.
It proved that she had been right to call a halt for she had not been there more than a few days when she began to feel her pains.
She took to her bed for it was clear that the child was about to be born.
There was great rejoicing when it arrived for it was the hoped-for boy.
‘I shall call him Thomas,’ said the Queen, ‘for I know that it is to St Thomas that I owe this great joy.’
So the child was Thomas and a message was sent to the King to tell him that the Queen was safely delivered of a boy.
Edward received the news with joy. He was at York and ready to march on Scotland. Seven thousand horse and eighty thousand foot under his skilful generalship would soon put Wallace to flight.
It was a good omen, he said, that the child was a boy and healthy. It was Heaven’s answer to his doubts whether he should have married again. Eleanor in Heaven was looking down on him with that bland understanding which she had shown him throughout their lives.
As soon as the Queen was well enough to travel he wanted her to take the child to Cawood Castle and there he would be able to see them before he set out for Scotland.
Marguerite quickly recovered from her confinement and was eager to set out, and in a few weeks was on her way to Cawood, that castle which was situated on the south bank of the Ouse which the archbishops of York had used as a residence as far back as the tenth century. Like most castles it had little comfort to offer but as this was high summer they suffered more from the smell of the privies than the cold.
Edward’s visit was a hasty one for he had much on his mind. It was depressing to contemplate that after all his efforts Wallace should have managed to rally Scotland and challenge his supremacy.
He was delighted with the boy though and told Marguerite that nothing could have pleased him better and given him more heart for what lay ahead than the sight of her with their baby.
‘My lord,’ she asked timidly, ‘I have said he shall be Thomas, but if it is your wish …’
‘It is yours,’ he said fondly, ‘and therefore Thomas shall be his name. As for myself, I think at such a time it is well to honour the saint of Canterbury. I may need his help.’
She was anxious at once. ‘But you are going to subdue the Scots with all speed.’
‘Subdue them, yes, but with speed who can say? This fellow Wallace has caught the imagination of the people. They have made a hero of him. It is never easy to conquer a national hero as one who is despised. Baliol was easy. A weak man. This Wallace is different. But never fear, by the time our next son is born I shall have subdued the Scots and taught them what it means to flout me.’
Then he kissed her fondly and talked to her of his plans as he used to talk to Eleanor; and she listened attentively, so meekly and with such adoration that it might have been his first wife sitting there.
He joined his armies and marched across the Border. There was no resistance. But the Scots had laid waste to the countryside so there were no provisions. Good general that he was he had foreseen this and had ordered ships to sail up the Forth with what his army should need.
These were late in coming and he was fraught with anxiety. So many armies had been beaten through lack of supplies.
He took Edinburgh and waited there, and it was the end of July before the ships began to arrive.
There came also some of his spies who had roamed the country in the guise of beggars and pedlars. They had news for him. The Scots under Wallace were at Falkirk.
‘We shall attack without delay,’ said Edward, and he led his army to Linlithgow Heath, there to await the moment to go into action.
It was evening when he rode round his camp making sure that all was well and to give heart to his men. It had always been so. He knew they looked to him. When they saw his tall figure on its horse some new strength came to them. They had the belief that in battle he was invincible. He knew that that belief must be upheld and with an enemy like Wallace who would have a similar effect on his men, it was more than ever important to maintain it.
These men would follow him wherever he went and if he told them that victory was possible, no matter what odds they faced, they would believe him.
He did not, however, believe he faced fearful odds now, for even though Wallace had built up an aura about himself, that could not stand against a corresponding aura of a king who had proved himself a great warrior for many years and led a well-disciplined army. The Scots must lack the training of Edward’s men. They had beaten the troops of the garrison towns but that was not the English army. Wallace was a brave man. He respected Wallace. He understood Wallace. But if he captured him he would show no mercy. It was not good statesmanship to show mercy to the man who was responsible for driving him out of Scotland.
His son should be with him now. He was disappointed in Edward. He was showing himself to be unworthy of the crown. He had thought of this ever since he had held his young son Thomas in his arms. But a baby. It was years before he would grow to manhood. And in the meantime there was Edward. Edward had no desire to learn to be a king; he preferred to frivol away his time with companions like himself.
It had been a mistake to send Gaveston’s boy to him. He was getting quite a hold on him, Edward was following him slavishly as though their roles were reversed. He heard bad reports from their guardians.
Edward, soon to be seventeen, was no longer a young boy. He was old enough to show some manhood. Oh yes, he was very worried about Edward. He could not talk to Marguerite about him. It would seem disloyal to Eleanor in some way, but perhaps Marguerite heard tales of her stepson’s behaviour. If she did she was too tactful to say so.