Isabella’s husband had left her in England and showed no signs of returning to her. She was sad and remained at Court although she knew that to keep close to her father she must placate Alice.
Lionel had died in Italy; Edmund and Thomas showed no particular talents; and the great and heroic deeds of the King’s earlier years seemed to have been in vain.
The Black Prince followed events with growing melancholy. Although on his return to England his fever had abated a little the attacks returned and they were becoming more frequent. He was filled with misgiving when he watched his little son Richard. What would become of him? he wondered. How long could the King last? His health was deteriorating rapidly; and what of himself? How long could be continue? He knew that the disease he had contracted would kill him in time. It seemed inevitable that this little Richard would be King before he came of age. John of Gaunt longed for the crown. He was clever and cunning. How would this innocent boy fare against him?
‘Give me strength to live until my son is of age to rule,’ he prayed. ‘Give me time to teach him what he must know.’
In the meantime there was the old King ruled by a loose woman who had no sense of honour and whose one idea was to amass as much wealth as she could. The people were restive. How long would they accept the state of affairs into which the country was falling?
If only the King would be as he once was—strong, just! None could deny that Edward had been one of the greatest kings England had known before this senility had overtaken him. If only Philippa had lived. Ah yes, if only Philippa had lived! If only the Black Prince, hero of Crécy and Poitiers, had his strength.
It was almost impossible to believe how England could have been brought so low through a chain of some unexpected circumstances. The death of the Queen; the domination of Alice Perrers over a King who had slipped from greatness to senility; a fever-stricken Prince of Wales; a scheming John of Gaunt; and an heir to the throne who was little more than a baby.
The Prince had emerged from the fever and was feeling a little better when William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester came to Berkhamstead in some haste and excitement. William of Wykeham had always been a friend of the Black Prince and with him had deplored the way in which England was declining.
He immediately told the Prince the reason for his visit.
‘I think, my lord,’ he said, ‘that we now have what we need to break this association between the King and the strumpet. I have discovered that she is married and therefore commits adultery.’
The Prince was excited. ‘Is this indeed so? Can it be proved? The matter should be laid before the Parliament.’
‘Indeed it shall be, my lord. The woman’s adultery shall be considered and with it the evil practices of bribery and corruption which she has brought about. This gives us an opportunity.’
‘Let us make good use of it,’ replied the Prince.
He felt better. There was a chance. The King would have to give up Alice Perrers. The thought of it made him feel well again. He was going to get up from his bed. He was going to be the strong man again. His father, rid of that woman, would return to his old way of life. Who knew he might have many years before him and after him would come the Black Prince and years and years ahead when Richard was a man taught wisdom by those of experience the crown should be placed on his head and England be prosperous again.
The Parliament assembled. Its members were ready to go against the wishes of their King and the people rejoiced for they, like the Black Prince, believed that this Parliament could bring about a return to the old sane ways. They called the Parliament the Good Parliament. It was supported by their idol the Black Prince and it would work against John of Gaunt whom they disliked and moreover it would bring to light the evil practices of Alice Perrers.
The Parliament lived up to the people’s expectations. Alice was summoned to appear. She was accused of practising nefariously in the courts of law, of meddling in other matters and of having seduced the King through black magic.
Alice displayed an insolence which did her little good and the result was that she was dismissed from Court and threatened with excommunication if she returned.
The King was desolate. A delegation headed by the Bishop of Winchester called on him and told him that Alice had married William de Windsor and therefore he and she were committing adultery.
‘I refuse to believe it,’ he cried in anguish. ‘She has never married anyone.’
They proved that she had recently done so, and he was overcome with grief.
‘She is also guilty of fraud and theft,’ he was told.
‘She has done nothing without my consent.’
‘My lord, even so she is guilty.’
There was not a man present who was not amazed at the state to which this once great King was reduced. A few years ago which one of them would have dared stand before him and tell him what he must do?
Now he listened meekly. He said: ‘I beg of you deal with her gently.’
Great Edward left them and went to his bedchamber and wept.
When the Black Prince heard that Alice was dismissed from Court he was delighted.
He knew that throughout the country people were looking to him. They knew that it was his support and his strength which had given the Good Parliament the courage to defy the King and send Alice from Court. But what everyone was marvelling at was that Edward should have allowed it. He must indeed be a sick man.
During the weeks that followed the Prince’s health deteriorated rapidly.
He sent for his little son Richard, a boy of nine, handsome, bright, alert. God preserve him, he prayed. If only he were a little older! If only his brother Edward had lived!
What could he say to Richard? How could he instill into that young head the importance of the destiny which lay ahead of him.
He asked that the King should come to him for he was too sick to go to him.
Edward came and sat by his son’s bedside. His grief was intense.
This son of his, this noble knight, could he be this sick and wasted man! How could God be so cruel to him! He remembered when this son had been born to him and Philippa and their great delight in him and when he grew to manhood it had seemed that all their dreams had been fulfilled in him.
Crécy. Such a boy he had been. ‘Let the boy win his spurs,’ he had said; and how he had won them! How the people had loved him! He had been their perfect knight, the symbol of chivalry; people had bowed their heads in reverence at the mention of the name of the Black Prince.
‘Oh my son, my son,’ sobbed the King. ‘Can this really be the end? It must not be. You will recover. You will be strong again. I need you, Edward. The country needs you.’
The Prince shook his head. ‘I am dying, Father. I know it well. I grieve to leave you ... and England. There are three wishes I have to ask of you. Confirm those gifts which I have bestowed, pay my debts from my estate and above all protect my son from his enemies. He is young yet ... only a boy. I fear for him, Father.’
‘You will live to reign after me, my son and I am not dead yet.’
‘Oh Father, you must live, you must not go ... not yet ... not yet ...’
The King promised that he would do all his son asked of him and went sorrowing away.
Joan knew that the end was near and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She had nursed her husband through his illness and for a long time she knew that she must be prepared for the end.
All that was left to her now was her boy. A great responsibility rested with her for when his father died that boy would be the heir to the throne.