Philippa was horrified. She thought of the families of those men, robbed of the breadwinners; she thought of the loves of wives for their husbands and mothers for their sons and she would not let it happen.
She knelt suddenly before the King. She took his hand and said: ‘My lord, you have said that you love and honour me. You have showered many gifts on me. There is nothing I want more than the lives of these men. If they die by the rope I shall remember them all my life. I have suffered no harm. Nor have these ladies. The gallery was erected in a hurry. Please, my lord, I beg of you, as you love me, spare these men.’
The King looked at her, with her hair loose about her shoulders and her dear kind eyes full of tears; the grief apparent on the face which he was accustomed to see merry and content.
He hesitated and she waited, watching him.
Then she said: ‘My lord, if you will not grant this request, I shall never be completely happy again. I shall always remember what was done to these men who wished me no ill and are your loyal subjects.’
The King said : ‘Let the men go free. My Queen pleads for them with such passion that I cannot resist her.’
The Queen covered her face for the tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. There were sudden deafening cheers. They filled the streets; the people were surging forward.
‘God bless the Queen!’ they cried. ‘God bless good Queen Philippa.’
The Countess returned to Hainault happy with her visit to England. There could be no doubt of Philippa’s happiness and she certainly seemed the most fortunate of princesses to have enjoyed a happy childhood and to slip so easily into a happy marriage.
There was one matter of concern to Philippa. She knew that the celebrations given in honour of her mother had been very costly, and her frugal outlook on life would not let her accept this. She compared her own country with England; a small country but with a rich economy; she decided it was because the people of Hainault worked harder than the English.
She talked to Edward about this and he was at first amused by her but after a while he saw that she was talking sense. It was true that the economy of the country was not flourishing. There was a great deal of poverty in certain areas. Through the reign of his father and of Mortimer there had been no thought of making the best of the country’s resources; wealth was appropriated and absorbed by favourites who used it not for the good of the country but for their own pleasure.
She had seen at once that the wool produced in England, which was reckoned to be the best in the world, would be more profitable to the country if it were made into cloth instead of the wool’s being exported to the Low Countries, there to be made into cloth and brought back to England.
Edward considered this and could see the logic in it.
Our people are not weavers,’ he said. ‘They do not care to work as hard as the people of Flanders. They like to keep their sheep, watch over them, and wait for the shearing time.’
They would be more prosperous if they worked harder. A country needs prosperity, Edward. It is happier because of it.’
He conceded this. ‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ he said.
‘I want to send for some cloth weavers to come to England and set up a colony of weavers here. Then we can make our own cloth ... a little at first, and then increase it. I would like to see English cloth—not only wool—the best in the world.’
‘Well, my wise Queen, let us proceed with this.’
‘So I have your permission to write to one I know who excels in the craft?’
‘My dearest wife and Queen, you have indeed.’
Philippa immediately wrote to a certain John Kempe of Flanders. If he would come to England with his servants, apprentices and everything he needed to carry on his business he would have the protection of the King; and it was his wish that they should build up a flourishing cloth-weaving industry in England.
Philippa was delighted because she fully believed that hard work was the way to prosperity.
There was a great deal that John Kempe wanted clarified before he could take this great step. But the project had started and although it took a year or so to be put into action, Philippa’s wisdom was in due course responsible for the setting up in Norfolk of a cloth-making industry which was to bring prosperity not only to Norfolk but to the whole of England.
The Princess Eleanor was to be married. Oddly enough the prospect excited her. There was something about the Earl of Gueldres which fascinated her. It might have been that she heard so much from Philippa of the romantic meeting between her and Edward, how they had loved at first sight and the evidence of her own eyes told, her how happy that had turned out to be.
Eleanor was only thirteen years old but many girls were married at that age; Philippa herself had not been much older and it seemed that the King was satisfied with the Earl of Gueldres as a husband for his sister.
Philippa wondered whether Edward still thought about taking the French crown. If he did he would need friends on the Continent. Her own marriage had really come about because of an alliance between two countries. If Queen Isabella and Mortimer had not needed an army they would never have consented to a match between Hainault and England. Philippa shuddered at the thought of how much her happiness had depended on chance.
Eleanor discussed Raynald with Philippa and Philippa encouraged her for she knew from Edward that he had decided on the match; therefore if Eleanor could fall in love with her future husband Philippa would be delighted.
‘There is something rather exciting about him,’ said Eleanor with a smile.
Philippa agreed that there was indeed.
‘Of course he is rather old ...’
Eleanor waited for Philippa to defend age which she did promptly. ‘There is a great deal to be said for experience,’ she commented.
‘Would you have loved Edward if he had been married before?’
‘I should have loved Edward whatever had happened to him,’ said Philippa vehemently.
‘Suppose he had had four daughters?’
‘I should have loved them as I did his sisters.’
‘I suppose daughters are different from sisters.’
‘It would have made no difference,’ declared Philippa. ‘If one loves nothing can make any difference.’
‘Do you think he is handsome?’
‘Very! ‘ said Philippa.
‘They call him Raynald de Swerte in his own country. Do you think he is swarthy? He is very dark of complexion is he not?’
‘It is most attractive. It makes him seem strong, a little fierce ... as a man should be.’
‘You must prefer fair men. Edward is so fair.’
‘I do not love him for the colour of his hair.’
‘No, one does not. In truth I think a little swarthiness is rather attractive.’
‘And so do I,’ said Philippa. ‘But don’t tell Edward.’ Eleanor laughed. How comforting they were, these conversations.
Philippa encouraged them and each day she was preparing Eleanor for her coming marriage. In private she was often a little uneasy and she discussed Raynald with Edward and asked him if he really thought the match was a good one.
‘I must find a husband for Eleanor,’ he said. ‘You know I have tried for Alfonso of Castile and for the son and heir of the King of France. I have tried too for the son of the King of Aragon. All these have been considered and have come to nothing. Eleanor has been rejected three times. I begin to think this might tell against her. I should like to see her married soon before it is believed that there is some spell working against her. I would not want her to remain unmarried.’
‘It seems wrong that she should marry this man because other offers came to nothing. Is it not true that this so happens in royal circles?’