When Edward and Philippa heard that the Black Prince was going to marry Joan of Kent they were dismayed.
‘A widow ‘ cried the King. ‘A woman older than yourself.’
‘By two years,’ replied the Prince, ‘and I am not too old to beget sons, nor is she.’
‘The relationship is very close,’ put in Philippa.
‘I have already sent to Rome for a dispensation,’ answered the Prince. ‘There will be no difficulty in acquiring it, I am sure.’
Philippa was thinking: Will he be happy with her? It had really been disgraceful the manner in which she had pretended to be unmarried when all the time she had lived with Holland. Philippa would have liked her son to marry a gentle young virgin, someone who looked up to him and adored him—not an experienced woman, older than himself, full of wiles and who had already borne three children.
As for the King he thought: She will be a disturbing daughter-in-law ... She made him uneasy. There was flaunting sexuality about her, a quality which bothered him in women even more so than in the past. Philippa had aged more quickly than he had and she was so fat that she could not move about without difficulty. As he was getting older temptation came more often. No, he did not want a woman like Joan of Kent in the family.
But both of them saw that the Black Prince, after holding back for so long, was now all eagerness and was going to conduct his marriage like a military campaign. It was clear that nothing was going to deter him. He was no longer a boy and it appeared that he must have been waiting for his cousin as before he had shown clearly his lack of desire to marry and settle down.
Edward and Philippa discussed the matter together and they both agreed that they must accept the marriage.
News came from Rome that the dispensation was granted and would be sent to England. However, the Prince and Joan decided that they could not wait for it.
They were married in the Chapel at Windsor. The King was not present. Somehow he could not bring himself to see his son marry a woman who aroused such desires in himself. He felt too uneasy and it was better for him to stay away.
Joan guessed the real reason but she was content to let it be believed that the King was not entirely pleased with the marriage. What care I for that! she thought. Poor old Edward! He looked magnificent still, of course, but he was ageing a little. There was a good deal of white in the once golden hair. He was a little jealous of his son for having chosen such a voluptuous bride. She knew it, and she could understand it. Pious old Philippa was scarcely a siren these days.
They left Court soon after the ceremony for one of the Prince’s residences in Berkhamstead and as the King had granted his son all his dominions in Aquitaine and Gascony, the newly married pair left England and in a short time had set up a splendid Court which was sometimes in Aquitaine but more often in Bordeaux.
The whole family rejoiced when in due course, Joan gave birth to a son. He was called Edward, which seemed appropriate as he was in direct line to the throne.
ISABELLA AND DE COUCY
BEFORE the birth of the Black Prince’s son, a tragedy had struck the family and it was one from which Philippa never recovered.
Now that her sons were moving away from her which was inevitable she was more and more in the company of her daughters. Isabella was like a queen in her own right and gave herself more airs than ever Philippa had. Philippa knew that the King was largely responsible for the behaviour of this overbearing daughter but the older he grew the more dotingly fond he became.
Margaret was married and was the Countess of Pembroke but she was too young to live with her husband and remained in her mother’s care.
Mary was older and wished to marry the Duke of Brittany to whom shehad long been betrothed. Edward had however delayed the marriage becauseof the uncertainty of the bridegroom’s position; but now, as the young people were eager for the match, he decided that it should take place.
So now both her daughters were married. The only one who was not was Isabella and she was twelve years older than Mary. Isabella it seemed would remain unmarried but she and Philippa had never been as close as the others; and Philippa knew that she must resign herself to parting with her daughters in due course.
She did not realize how soon and how tragically.
She had noticed for some weeks that Margaret seemed lethargic. She slept a great deal even during the day and seemed unable to rouse herself.
One morning Philippa’s women came to her in some distress and said that Margaret’s attendants were dismayed as they could not arouse her. Philippa, who had known for some time that there was something wrong with her daughter, went uneasily to her apartments where she found Margaret lying on her bed looking very tired.
‘What is it, my dearest?’ asked Philippa. ‘Are you feeling ill?’
‘Only tired, my lady. Very tired.’
‘Come, let me help you dress.’
Philippa tried to lift her daughter but Margaret fell back on to her pillows.
‘I beg you, dear Mother, let me stay as I am. I cannot get up. I am so very tired.’
In dismay Philippa sent for the doctors. They did not know what ailed Margaret but as the day passed she sank into a deep sleep.
‘Let her rest,’ said the doctors. ‘Then she may recover from her exhaustion.’
But Margaret did not recover. Quietly she slipped away from life.
Philippa was stunned. She had thought her daughter had been merely tired. It was not possible that she could be dead.
But she was. It was some disease which had never before been heard of; and it seemed it was fatal.
Philippa wept and shut herself away. If Margaret had been ailing she could have been prepared. But she had been so happy. She had loved her young husband dearly and he her. Poor boy. He was heart-broken; he came to Philippa and sobbed at her feet. She did her best to comfort him but it was useless.
It seemed as though the hand of God was against her for a few weeks after Margaret’s death Mary was struck with the same disease.
This time they were prepared for it and when the drowsiness attacked a second daughter Philippa and Edward had every physician of standing to come to their daughter.
It was no use. No one had any idea what the mysterious illness was and there was nothing to be done but watch the young girl’s strength slowly ebb away.
In a few weeks Mary was dead.
Philippa, completely stricken, seemed to have lost interest in life.
There was deep mourning throughout the Court and the two young husbands vowed they would never marry again.
Philippa tried to assuage her misery by having a fine tomb erected in the monastery of Abingdon and there the bodies of her two daughters were laid side by side.
Isabella was now the only living daughter. She was treated with the greatest respect and indulgence but she began to feel that she was missing a great deal in life. It was her own wish that she had remained unmarried for she had as shamelessly jilted Bernard Ezi as Louis of Flanders had jilted her.
She could congratulate herself on her escape from Louis but she had decided that perhaps she should marry after all.
When the King of France had returned to his country escorted by Edward, Isabella had been a member of the party and among the company was the Lord de Coucy who distinguished himself by his extraordinary good looks and success in the jousts; he could sing and dance most elegantly and Isabella thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was seven years younger than she was but that did not prevent an attachment springing up between them.
It was for this reason that Isabella decided that she would abandon her vow to remain unmarried and take Ingelram, Lord de Coucy as her husband.