‘I have heard of your goodness, my lady,’ said the woman, ‘and it shines in your face. My daughter who is but eleven years is to be hanged by the neck. I beg of you, my lady, speak for her. Save her. She is my child ...’
‘What was her crime?’ asked Philippa.
‘She stole some trinket. It was but a childish impulse. Believe me, my lady, she is a good girl.’
Edward said: ‘I fear my love, you will find many to beset you in this way.’
‘I must help her,’ replied Philippa firmly.
The Queen Mother said: ‘Take the woman away. We wish to ride on.’
For a moment the two queens looked at each other. Isabella’s gaze was impatient and then faintly disturbed. She had seen a hint of firmness in the wide candid eyes. Philippa had turned to Edward.
‘You will want to please me, I know, my lord.’
‘More than anything on earth,’ answered Edward.
‘Then,’ said Philippa, ‘we will call a halt here and I will look into this matter. I could not have our subjects believe that I would not listen to a mother’s plea. It is clear that this woman is deeply distressed.’
‘Do as you will, my dearest,’ answered Edward.
‘How good you are to me,’ she murmured.
So there was a stay at Bishoppesthorpe and Philippa herself saw the young girl who had stolen the trinket and she spoke to the stewards and marshal of the household in which the theft had taken place and the judge who had condemned the girl; and as a result the child was saved from the hangman’s rope.
The mother fell to her knees and kissed the hem of Philippa’s gown while Edward smiled on the scene benignly, and the people said : ‘It was a happy day when our King brought good Queen Philippa to our shores.’
After that they continued their journey south and at last they came to the palace of Woodstock in Oxfordshire that most enchanting residence in sylvan surroundings so beloved of Edward’s ancestor Henry the Second.
‘We will rest here awhile,’ said Edward, ‘Philippa and I with a few attendants, for there has been so much state business and travelling since our marriage, and a little peace is due to us.’
So there they stayed at Woodstock and Philippa’s attendants who had travelled with her from Hainault now returned to their native land. She retained only one. Walter de Manny who was her carver, because he had already shown himself to be a worthy knight and had sworn allegiance to the King.
‘Now,’ said Edward, ‘you have left Hainault behind and are my English Queen. Are you sad, sweet Philippa, to see them go?’
‘I have rewarded them well,’ she said, ‘and they are my friends. But I could not be sad while I am with you and you love me.’
The idyllic life continued at Woodstock.
TREACHERY AT CORFE CASTLE
ISABELLA could not escape from the dark shadows which crowded in on her. Sometimes she thought she was going mad. She dreamed continually of her murdered husbane-that he came to life and would not Te-airs-re her, that he appeared not only in her bedroom at night when she lay beside her lover, but sometimes she thought she saw his face in a crowd, and once even at a conference table.
Mortimer laughed at her. Mortimer was strong and had little understanding of whimsical imaginings. Mortimer lived entirely for the present and if there were threats in the future he would not look at them.
Sometimes she thought of Gaveston and Hugh—both of whom had met violent deaths though neither could compare with what had happened to her husband—and how they had refused to see their fate approaching them. It had seemed clear enough to everyone else, but those two had continued to plunder the King and snap their fingers at the hatred of the people. If she were not besottedly infatuated by Mortimer, would she say he was the same?
He never wanted to talk about the possibilities of disaster. He never wanted to take heed of warning shadows. He delighted in the pact with the Scots because Robert the Bruce was to pay Edward twenty thousand pounds. The first instalment arrived and Mortimer had taken charge of it, which meant that he would spend it. He was a great spender, Mortimer. He liked to live flamboyantly, and so did she. Well, they deserved it after all that they had suffered—he a prisoner in the Tower with an uncle who had died of starvation, as he might have done if he had not been so strong; and she, what humiliation she had endured for years, thrust into the background while all the favours were showered on her husband’s men friends, bearing his children while she loathed him just because she had to give the country heirs.
Now, they were reaping their reward. Mortimer was the richest and most powerful man in the country and she and he ruled it together. Edward was such a boy and remained amenable.
She was uneasy though about Philippa.
She talked to Mortimer about it. ‘Mortimer what do you think of Philippa?’ she asked.
‘I never think of her. What is she? A simple country girl, fresh and untutored. Why should we think of Philippa as anything but a nice playmate for our boy. He likes married life evidently. Well, let them enjoy it. It will keep them occupied.’
‘That woman on the road ... She insisted, you know, and Edward wants to please her.’
‘She held us up yes. But it was of no great importance.’ ‘Only to show us that he will do a great deal to please her.’ ‘Of course he will ... for a while. He is a boy; he experiences early love. It seems very important to him. Wait till she bears him children and he discovers that there are women in the world more attractive than his plump little Hainaulter.’ ‘At the moment she could guide him.’
‘How could such an innocent guide anyone?’
‘He is changing, wanting his own way. It could be less easy to control him.’
‘Come, sweetheart, let us leave that problem until it arises.’ ‘This peace with Scotland ...’
‘I welcome it.’
Of course he did. It had brought money into his pocket. ‘The people of London are rioting.’
‘A plague on the people of London.’
‘Do not say that. It could be disastrous to the country.’ ‘I mean I care not a groat for them.’
‘They can be dangerous. They are saying the Scone stone shall not be given up and that it is a disgrace to send a baby to that barbarous land to marry the son of a leper.’
‘She will be Queen of Scotland.’
‘They do not like it. Mortimer, do you remember how they supported me? How they cheered me in the streets.’
‘They always loved you. You only have to appear and they shout their loyalty.’
‘Not any more.’
‘It is a momentary matter. They don’t like the wedding. They won’t part with the stone of Scone. They have too high an opinion of their importance, these Londoners. It will blow over.’
‘Yesterday someone shouted “Whore” as I rode by.’
‘Did you see who? He could be hanged, drawn and quartered for that.’
‘Yes, and still he did it. They are turning from me, Mortimer. They are turning from us.’
‘Much should we care.’
‘I wonder sometimes ...’
He soothed her as he always did. He snapped his fingers at danger by refusing to see it.
He was the great Mortimer; she was the Queen of England. It was true there was another Queen—but she was of no importance, no more importance than her young husband. Edward and Philippa were the figureheads. The real rulers were Isabella and Mortimer—and so it should remain.
Every night Joanna cried herself to sleep. It was no use their telling her that she was going to be happy in Scotland. She knew she was not. She was going to have a hideous little bridegroom, two years younger than herself, David the Bruce, who was five years old.