Days of feasting followed. There were pageants and tournaments and all these the little bride attended with wondering looks. She was less afraid now when she saw that her bridegroom was only a weak little boy who seemed very young to her because she had the advantage of being two years his senior.
In due course it was time for her to take her leave of the English party. Her mother embraced her and gave her some rich jewels which Joanna did not care very much about. Nor did she feel sad to say good-bye to her mother. She had always been afraid of her.
Isabella with Mortimer and the splendid cavalcade rode south while Joanna, who had been given into the hands of the Scottish nobles and their ladies, was taken to Edinburgh. There she was brought to the King of Scotland—an old old man who, though he was so feeble and could scarcely move, had brilliant eyes which smiled at her and a kindly look.
He was Robert the Bruce, her new father-in-law, and he gave orders that she was to be treated with the utmost care and it was to be remembered that she was very young and in a strange land.
There was something odd about him. He was dying, she knew, of a terrible disease, but he did not inspire her with fear as her own mother and Roger de Mortimer did.
She was bitterly homesick. She wanted the nursery at Windsor. She wanted Johanette Jermyn and dear Isabella de Valance; she wanted her sister Eleanor and her brother John. And most of all she wanted Edward and Philippa.
She had to be brave though. She had to remember that this happened to most princesses. That was what they were born for. They had to make peace and stop wars.
She was not surprised when she heard herself referred to as Joanna Make-Peace.
Events in France had brought dazzling new prospects to the English crown. The history of France over the last few years had been overshadowed by the Curse of the Templars. Philip the Fair, father of Queen Isabella, had made the error of the century when, in order to take their wealth, he had destroyed the Knights Templars. The final act in that dismal tragedy was the burning to death of Jacques de Molai in the Ile de la Cite. As the flames licked his limbs de Molai had uttered the curse—no good should come to the King and his heirs and God would be revenged on them for this evil deed. This had been uttered in the presence of the thousands who had come to witness the end of the Grand Master. It was taken very seriously and, when within a year both the Pope (who had been deeply involved) and the King had died, it was accepted as certain that the curse would work. And so it seemed it had. Philip had three sons and one daughter Isabella, wife to Edward the Second. All three sons became Kings of France—Louis the Tenth le Hutin, the Quarrelsome, Philip the Fifth known as The Long because of his unusual height and Charles the Fourth, the Fair because of his good looks. They all reigned for short periods and none of them had left a male heir. This was generally believed to be due to the curse.
Charles the Fourth had just died and people were looking to Philip of Valois, son of Charles, younger brother of Philip the Fair, as the heir to the throne.
But, reasoned Edward’s advisers, Philip had had a daughter—Isabella—and Isabella had a son Edward, King of England.
The Salic Law prevailed in France and that meant that a woman could not inherit the throne. Perhaps not, but what if that woman had a son? Why should he not have a right to the crown?
The matter was discussed in Parliament and the prospect of enriching the country and themselves was an agreeable one. Edward glowed with anticipation. He had failed to win Scotland but what a great prize France would be. And he could convince himself that he had a claim through his mother.
The French rather naturally had different ideas and elected Philip of Valois as their King.
There were hotheads in England who would have liked to raise an army and march into France. Edward himself longed to gain glory there. If he could win the crown of France he would have done something which even his illustrious grandfather had failed to do.
Isabella and Mortimer were against the enterprise.
‘It is not as though victory—even if there should be victory—could be achieved in a few weeks,’ said Mortimer. ‘There would be a war. Do you think the French would accept Edward? They would put up a strong fight to keep an English King off the throne of France. It would go on for years. The country would be impoverished. We should be impoverished.’ Isabella agreed with him.
She talked gently to her son. ‘The time is not yet ripe,’ she said. ‘You must grow up a little. You are not experienced in warfare as the Scottish exploit showed.’
‘If the Scots had come out to fight ...’ began Edward hotly.
But his mother smiled lovingly at him. ‘Those were the tactics of war, my dear son. They are something every commander has to be prepared for.’
She could bring Edward back to depend on her by reminding him of his youth and inexperience. ‘The Scottish adventure has been a useful exercise,’ she told Mortimer. ‘A reference to it and he is prepared to take any advice.’
So the matter of the claim to the French crown was set aside. But only, Edward promised himself, temporarily. The time would come when he would make a bid for the crown of France.
Soon after his coronation Philip the Sixth called together his numerous vassals that, as a new King of France, he might accept their homage. Among these was Edward who must swear fealty for his French fiefs.
On receiving the command Edward called his Parliament together to decide what, in the somewhat delicate matter of his claim to the French crown, should be done.
After a great deal of discussion it was decided that he must go but that in doing his homage he should in no way renounce his claim to the throne. He must travel in great splendour so that the French might be aware of his riches, but the tricky moment would be when he came face to face with Philip in the ceremony.
Edward took a fond farewell of Philippa. It was the first time they had been separated since their marriage and he promised to be back as soon as he possibly could.
The King travelled through France to Amiens where he was greeted with great warmth to hide the suspicions the French must feel towards one who had declared he had a claim to the throne of France.
It was a hot June day when Edward came before the King of France to pay the necessary homage, most splendidly attired in a robe of crimson velvet embroidered in gold with leopards. His sword was at his side and on his head he wore a glittering golden crown and his spurs were golden to match it.
It was inevitable that the French King should be equally splendid. Seated on his throne, wearing his crown and clad in blue velvet decorated with golden fleurs-de-lis he looked askance at the King of England.
Philip murmured to his knight-at-arms that he did not expect his liegeman to do homage in a crown. All knew that Edward was King of England, but that fact was not a matter of concern on this occasion. He had come to pay homage for his lands in France and it should be done with a bare head and an ungirt sword.
‘My lord,’ said Edward, ‘I can do homage only generally. I cannot set aside my English crown.’
There was much murmuring throughout the hall. Philip looked at this very young man—scarcely more than a boy and wondered what he had to fear from him. He decided to act with care.
‘I will accept homage on your terms,’ he said. ‘But when you return to England I would have you search the records and if you find that full liege homage is due you will send letters patent to me of it.’
Edward said: ‘This I agree to do.’
And the King of France answered: ‘I accept your word on your honour.’