‘Who would have thought she would have died?’ mourned Llewellyn. ‘We had so little time together. How could God have been so cruel?’
‘God is sometimes cruel to a man in order that he may fulfil his destiny.’
‘Destiny! what is my destiny without her!’
‘There was a prophecy by Merlin.’
‘A false prophet.’
‘Take care, Llewellyn. It is small wonder that Heaven strikes you such blows if you blaspheme in this way.’
‘Heaven can strike as many blows as it wishes. I cannot feel any more. I care nothing of what happens to me.’
‘You are not finished yet, Llewellyn. The future is before you.’
‘I care not for it. I shall never know happiness again.’
‘There is happiness to be found outside family life. Give yourself a chance to find compensation.’
‘You do not understand, Davydd.’
‘I understand full well. If you stay here brooding you will die of melancholy. Let me tell you, brother, I could raise an army. We could go against the English … together. Edward is lulled to a feeling of security. He thinks he has beaten us. Llewellyn, why do we not show him his mistake?’
Llewellyn was half listening. He was thinking: Edward kept us apart. Edward captured her and kept her from me. We could have had more life together. I hate Edward. I hate the world. I hate God.
‘We could … together … defeat him. We could bring Wales back to the Welsh. Llewellyn, don’t you see it is your opportunity. It is God showing you a way out of your misery. Llewellyn, you are stunned with grief now, but if you would give yourself a chance you would grow away from it. Oh, I know you will never forget her. I know what you have lost. But you have still to live. You have to go on living. You cannot for her, but you can for Wales.’
For Wales! For the magnificent mountains, the valleys and the hills. The honour of Wales. Wales for the Welsh. And perhaps one day Merlin’s prophecy would come true. Davydd was in earnest. He could not trust Davydd. He had deceived him once.
He was astounded. For a few minutes he had stopped thinking of the Demoiselle.
Now he was listening to Davydd.
He did not care what became of him. Perhaps that was the best way to go into desperate battle.
The Aragonese were determined. They would wait no longer. The Infant wanted his bride. If she did not come to him it was likely that he would look elsewhere; and he would certainly not regard as an ally one who had treated him as the English King had in withholding his daughter.
Tight-lipped, Edward explained to his daughter. He saw the stony despair in her face. Then he broke down and embraced her.
‘My darling child, what can I do? You are promised to Aragon.’
There was nothing she could do. There was nothing the Queen Mother could do. The Princess was promised to Aragon and there was no real reason why she should not go to her bridegroom.
The Princess was on her knees praying. God must do something that would prevent her going. She could not go. All her plans would have foundered if she did. She did not want to be the Queen of Aragon, she wanted to be the Queen of England. Her mother was pregnant again. If God sent a son this time she would take it as a sign that He had deserted her.
Something will happen, she kept telling herself. Something must happen.
Then came the startling news from Wales. Llewellyn and his brother Davydd had risen against the King. Edward was furious. He had believed the Welsh problem was settled. He had given Llewellyn his Demoiselle and looked forward to years of peace on that border. Now the brothers were in revolt.
He would trust no one to subdue them. He would go himself.
He told his daughter that he was going to Wales. She clung to him and said, ‘You are going and I shall have to go away. It may be that we shall not see each other again.’
‘That must not be,’ he said. ‘You shall come with me to Wales. You and your mother and your brothers and sisters shall be lodged in a safe place, but where I can see you between battles. My dearest child, it seems you must go to Aragon, but not yet … not yet. I can hold them off for a bit.’
‘It sounds as though they are an enemy,’ she said half tearfully, half joyously, because he betrayed his love for her so blatantly.
‘Anyone who takes my dearest daughter from me is an enemy,’ he said.
‘For a while then, I shall forget,’ she said. ‘I shall try to be happy. I shall not think that soon I have to go away. For the moment I can be with my beloved father.’
The Queen was also eager to go to Wales. The superstitious belief clung to her that if she bore a child in a different place, she might have a healthy boy.
Thus it was that they travelled north and the King put his family in Rhudlan Castle while he went on with his armies to subdue Llewellyn and his brother Davydd.
Edward had made Rhudlan his place d’armes and there he also kept the provisions for the army. It was a great comfort to him to have his family with him. How much less exacting war could be if, somewhere – as safely away from the fighting as possible – he could have them installed. It meant that when there was a lull in the battle and circumstances warranted his taking a little respite, he could be with them.
The Queen was in a state of expectancy. She was optimistic by nature and at every pregnancy she was buoyed up by the thought that this time they would have their son; and even when she was disappointed she would say to herself, ‘It will be the next time.’ She was thankful that she could bear children easily – a gift some women had, but which was not always bestowed on queens. Edward always agreed with her that one day the longed-for boy would come. ‘And if not,’ he had said not long before, ‘we have our daughter.’ He was very upset at this time at the prospect of losing her. She really should have gone to Aragon years before. But it was a comfort to know that Edward so loved his daughters that he could not bear to part with them.
Joanna would have to go too. She was afraid that would come to pass very soon for, although Joanna was eight years younger than her sister Eleanor, she was now ten years old, and this was an age when future brides were expected to be with their bridegroom’s families that they might grow up in their ways. How sad it would be when Eleanor went to Aragon and Joanna to Germany. But there seemed no help for it. Princesses were born to leave their homes and go to those of their husbands. She had had to do it; even the dominating Queen Mother had had to do it – although from what she had heard she had believed it was her choice.
It was wonderful to be near Edward so that she could have news quickly about the progress of the war. Edward did not expect this one to last long. Welsh chieftains rising in their hills should soon be put in their places and this time, said Edward, they shall feel my wrath. They made a treaty with me. I shall have no mercy on those who break faith with me.
And he meant it. Soft as he was with his family he was becoming a stern king. It was right of course. People only obeyed those who showed the strong arm.
‘Let it be a boy,’ she prayed. If it were, Rhudlan would be remembered as the birthplace of her son. There was Alfonso of course. They were inclined to forget that he was a boy and the eldest. Poor little fellow, did he know that there were whispers about him? He’ll not make old bones, they said. Edward was kind to him but he had no pride in him, and sometimes she thought the little boy knew it and lost the will to live. Because John and Henry had died they were expecting Alfonso to do the same. He was nine years now and had lived longer than either John or Henry. It could really be that like his father he would grow out of his delicacy.