When I questioned Sandewic on that, be became taciturn and withdrawn. A pity; the old constable’s remark was a key to these mysteries.
We left for Wissant the following morning, Edward processing out of Boulogne with very little ceremony, a studied insult to Philip. Isabella acted likewise, dispatching a mere messenger to make her farewells, saying she was concerned that she take everything with her. The long line of English carts, carriages and sumpter ponies poured out of Boulogne with standards flying. On either side of the column trudged Welsh bowmen in their steel morions and leather jerkins, whilst further out, light horsemen scouted the way before us. Isabella could have ridden in a litter; instead she bestrode a palfrey, often galloping up and down the long column of soldiery offering sweetmeats and smiles of encouragement. She did this unabashed, golden hair falling down, gown hitched up to display the froth of skirt and pretty ankles beneath. The troops loved it and cheered her loudly. Edward, riding at the head of the column, sent back his thanks to his charmante but kept to the fore, setting the speed of our march.
It proved an uneventful but uncomfortable journey. Nothing singular occurred except for Sandewic and Casales detaching themselves from the column, riding out with a small escort of mounted archers to explore the countryside. At first I wondered if they suspected an ambush. On their return at night they came and sat beside the roaring fire, muttering among themselves. I questioned them closely. Sandewic’s reply was off-hand. I snapped at both of them that I could understand any danger, especially in France. Sandewic almost leaned into the fire, so chilled was he after his arduous ride.
‘Did you notice?’ he whispered, and glanced around, but there was no one; Isabella had returned to her pavilion.
‘Did I notice what?’ I retorted.
‘For the love of heaven, the roads!’ Sandewic exclaimed. ‘They are repaired, hedges cut back, streams forded with fresh bridges, peasants hurrying away at our approach. .’
‘And?’ I insisted.
‘Philip himself is preparing to come here,’ Sandewic declared. ‘We found outposts manned; a line of beacons runs along the coast. Villagers talk of troops being dispatched to ports further to the east, of boats and barges being collected.’
‘Preparations for the royal wedding?’ I asked.
‘Possible,’ Sandewic grumbled, gesturing into the dark. ‘I’ve informed the king, but all he’s interested in is Wissant.’
Edward’s desire to reach the port was understandable. The countryside between Boulogne and the coast was desolate, frozen wasteland offering little protection against the biting sea winds. We reached the port the following day and gazed down at The Margaret of Westminster and its escort riding at anchor. The royal ship was magnificent, a great masted cog with high stern and jutting prow. It was my first encounter with the sea and I soon understood the sailor’s prayer, ‘From perilous seas Lord deliver us’. The journey out by barge to the war-cog was the beginning of the terrors. The powerful, swift swell of the heavy grey water, the salting spray, the blasting wind, the dangerous climb up the side on to the ever-moving deck cannot easily be forgotten. Our embarkation was hasty and rough. The king was resolute on an evening departure. He was first aboard, striding the deck, his cloak thrown back, strong booted legs spread against the sway of the ship. I passed him, the closest I’d been, as the princess hurried to her cabin beneath the stern. He winked at me boyishly. An open, very handsome face with a straight nose, full lips, the golden hair matted by sea spray; his blue eyes, however, were cold and angry as if the soul behind seethed in fury.
Once Isabella was settled, I went and stood beneath the canopy near the steps leading up to the stern. Edward was still pacing up and down, roaring at the captain, dragging the latecomers, including a bedraggled, terrified Rossaleti, over the side, almost throwing him on to the deck. Sailors and servants were sent staggering as the king shoved and pushed, bellowing orders at the captain, who retorted with a stream of curses, gesturing at the sky and the shore. Edward shook his fist at him. The captain hurried down from the poop, screaming invective and waving his hands. Edward shoved the man up against the mast, talking to him fiercely, the crew pattering by them, all unconcerned, bare feet slapping the soaking deck. The captain replied just as furiously. Edward turned away, hands on hips, swaying with the motion of the ship. Then he turned back roaring with laughing, grabbed the captain by the jerkin, dragged him forward and thrust a handful of coins at him. The captain had won the argument. We waited until our escort ships were fully ready before the Margaret turned, dipped its sails three times in honour of the Trinity and made its way out into the open sea.
Visions of hell! I have witnessed many, but that first journey across the swollen, tempest-tossed Narrow Seas was a true descent into Hades. Gusty gales, crashing waves, the ship rising and falling as it fought the seething sea. Salt water gushed everywhere, stinging cold, flying spray sharp as a razor; the giddiness, the nausea, the sheer terror of being imprisoned within wooden walls against the brute passion of nature. I retched and vomited, no longer caring. Nevertheless, one memory survives. The king came down and knelt beside me, his smiling face coaxing me to drink pure water; he stroked my hair, telling me not to be afraid, calling me by my name, saying I shouldn’t worry. Later he helped me up on to the deck. I became aware of whirling, star-lit skies, the surge of the wild sea and the blasting force of the wind. The king held me very close, telling me to breathe the fresh air, not to think but to rejoice! I was leaving France; I was free of the malignant power of Philip. He then took me back down, wrapped me in a cloak and knelt by Isabella shivering in her cot-bed, rubbing her hands, talking quickly in English which I could not understand.
I fell asleep. When I awoke, dawn had broken. Screams from the deck above sent me hurrying out. The Margaret had sighted land but the crew had assembled to watch their king flay a man who had fallen asleep during his night watch. The unfortunate had been guilty of nothing but exhaustion yet, clad only in a soiled loincloth, he was lashed to the mast, his back criss-crossed with bloody scars from the cane a sweaty-faced Edward held in his hand. The king stood, chest heaving, teeth bared, eyes staring. The flogging ceased as I reached the top step. I grasped a rope to steady myself against the swell. The king lifted the cane, glimpsed me then threw it to the deck, shouting that the man should be released. The sailor was unbound and collapsed on to the deck. Edward took a pail of salt water and poured it over the man’s scarred back; the sailor screamed. Edward knelt beside him, turned him over and, shouting for the captain, took the proffered cup of wine, forcing it between the man’s lips. He then rose, dug into his purse, forced a gold coin into the man’s clenched fist, kicked him gently in the ribs and hurried on to the poop to stand by the pilot.
The Margaret made its way in under the brooding cliffs of Dover and the soaring castle which dominated them. We disembarked on barges and boats. Isabella was quite ill and had to be carried ashore. I staggered behind, so absorbed with being back on land, I hardly noticed the retinue awaiting us. Isabella was carefully housed in her litter, and I was about to join her when the shrill blast of trumpets echoed through the mist. We were on the quayside, which was dank, wet and reeking of salty fish. The mist shifted and a wall of brilliant colour advanced through the murk. I was aware of a tall, slender, dark-haired man dressed brightly as the sun walking towards Edward, who stood a little ahead of us ringed by Sandewic, Casales and others of the royal retinue. I leaned against the litter and stared as if I was seeing a vision. Behind the sun-dressed man trooped a cohort of what appeared to be gaudily dressed children, jumping and leaping, the bells on their costumes tinkling out. Beside these strode standard-bearers carrying banners emblazoned with the insignia of a scarlet eagle, its wings outstretched; and following hastily on, a group of noblemen and women dressed in the finery of the court. Gaveston in all his glory had arrived! Edward did not wait but ran towards him, arms outstretched. They met and embraced, hugging and kissing, ignoring the protests and exclamations of the lords and ladies who had accompanied Gaveston as well as those coming up the steps from the barges and boats.