When they arrived in Knaresborough there occurred another of those incidents in which Philippa was able to show her kindly nature, and once more she saved someone from the gallows. This was a woman known as Agnes who had stolen a surcoat and three shillings. When she was being taken to the gallows the Queen was riding nearby with the King and the woman’s young daughter threw herself at the Queen’s horse and might have been run down if Philippa had not pulled up sharply.
The sight of a child in distress could always move the Queen deeply, and when she heard that the condemned woman was pregnant Philippa implored the King to give her a reprieve at least until her child was born.
Edward gallantly acceded to her request and there were cheers for the Queen. But that night as they lay in Knaresborough Philippa was deeply concerned as to what would become of the motherless child when after it was born the hangman claimed his victim.
‘She must live to care for her child, Edward. And it seemed to me a terrible thing that a surcoat and three shillings should be considered worth a life.’
‘This does seem so,’ said Edward thoughtfully. ‘But we cannot allow thieves to flourish. In the days of my great ancestor, William the Conqueror, no traveller need fear taking to the roads. The penalty for stealing was not death but the loss of ears, hands, feet, eyes ... Which ever was judged applicable. Under the weak reign of Stephen when this penalty was abolished the roads swarmed with thieves—and worse. Travellers were kidnapped and taken to the castles of robber barons to be robbed and tortured and to make cruel sport for the guests of these wicked men. It is easy to say the price of a surcoat is death but it is not merely one surcoat we are considering.’
Philippa was silent. ‘I know this well,’ she replied at length. But I shall grieve for that child. I believe that the woman stole to feed her living child. Edward, you often wish to give me some jewel to show how you love me. I would rather have this woman’s life than any jewel.’
So Edward said the woman should be pardoned; and the people crowded round the Queen when she rode out and blessed her with tears in their eyes and she was called Good Queen Philippa.
The King of England was on the march. Robert the Bruce was dead and King Edward looked and acted like his grandfather. There was no Scottish army worthy of the name. It had never been easy to discipline Scotsmen. They needed a William Wallace or a Robert the Bruce, and they had neither. Moray was dead. So was Black Douglas. They were without those leaders who could have led them to victory.
Sir Malcolm Fleming came to Edinburgh. He knew what Edward planned. He would set up Baliol as a puppet King and take David and Joanna back to England. There they would live comfortably—but as prisoners. It must not be. David must remain King of Scotland and if he ever fell into Edward’s hands who could say what the English King would inveigle him into promising.
Sir Malcolm’s plan was that he should convey the young King and Queen to Dumbarton, which was reckoned to be the strongest castle in the country, and he was its governor. There he would keep the royal pair; and if it were necessary for them to leave the country he could have a ship waiting for them and they could leave for France, when danger came too near.
This seemed a good plan and the children set out with Sir Malcolm.
So to Dumbarton, that grim fortress set on a point of land formed by the Clyde and the Leven from where it would be possible to take ship easily if the need arose.
It was an adventure riding through the night with the kindly Sir Malcolm, though David hated to leave his castle and—even more—the possibility of leaving Scotland itself. He was the King and they were trying to make him not a King. It was all the fault of Joanna’s brother. He was sullen and would not speak to her. She did not care for that but she was deeply hurt that Edward should have marched against Scotland while she was its Queen.
‘There need not have been a marriage,’ said David. ‘It was supposed to be to make Edward our friend.’
‘He is really our friend,’ Joanna tried to explain. But alas she could find no argument to back up that statement.
They settled in at Dumbarton and David forgot his animosity towards her because it was all rather exciting. Messengers were constantly arriving at the castle and they used to sit at the window and watch the ships dancing on the water. There were always men to load them with goods so that, said David, we could step into them and be gone in an hour.
‘We should have to wait for the tide,’ retorted Joanna.
‘Of course we should wait for the tide.’
‘Then it might be more than an hour.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’d like to go on that ship.’
Joanna considered. Yes, she thought she might like it too.
, And then one day they did so. Sir Malcolm came to them and said: ‘Make ready. We are sailing with the tide.’
‘Where are we going?’ cried David.
‘To France, my King.’
Hastily they prepared. They were glad they had been told weeks ago to make ready. They would be less likely to forget something important.
Soon they were going on board. And then ... away to France.
It was a difficult crossing but the young people were too excited by the prospect before them to notice the rigours of the sea. David felt it was wrong to be excited for he was leaving his kingdom; he would be a king in exile and his knowledge of history told him that that was not a very good thing to be. Joanna was depressed by the thought that she was running away from the approaching armies of her own brother.
Still, the tedium of life in Edinburgh was no more and it was becoming very adventurous.
When they arrived at Boulogne a messenger was sent to the King of France to tell him of their arrival and in a very short time he sent a company of Knights to bid them welcome and to bring them to the Court of France.
The friendly concern of the King of France was a great comfort to the Scots and they lost no time in accepting his hospitality.
Philip the Sixth had already proved himself to be a mighty monarch and the contrast between him and his three predecessors, the sons of Philip the Fourth, was marked and the change had put fresh hope into the hearts of his subjects, particularly now that they believed that the Templar’s curse was worked out. It had been directed at the Capet line; and with the death of Charles the Fourth the Valois had taken their place as the ruling house.
True the King’s father had been the brother of Philip the Fourth but this was a new branch on the royal tree and the curse was finished.
It had been clear from the first that Philip was a strong man. He immediately set about pulling France out of the morass into which three weak kings had led her. Already he had subdued the Flemings and had commanded the young King of England to do homage to him. It was true he felt a certain uneasiness because of young Edward’s claim to the throne of France, ridiculous though it might be, but all the same Philip believed they must be prepared for trouble. Through Edward’s marriage with Philippa of Hainault he had made sure of the friendship of the Low Countries. Philip had heard that the English Queen had notions of improving the trade of England.
‘What is she?’ Philip said. ‘A tradesman’s daughter!’
‘The Lowlanders are traders by profession,’ was the mocking answer.
Still Edward must be watched. He was popular in his own country and since he had rid himself of Mortimer and taken the reins into his own hands, there had been improvements. He had heard that Philippa was importing weavers to England and that they were becoming prosperous in this little community.