The Hammer of the Scots by Jean Plaidy Page B

of going back to that bleak Scotland she would have nursed her back to health.
    She turned her attention to her granddaughter Eleanor who had to be comforted for the loss of her little brother Henry. Young as she was they would soon have to consider her betrothal in some quarter from which good could come to England. Then there was the Queen who was growing larger every week and must soon give birth – pray God a son this time. If she had a boy that would lift the spirits of them all. It would show that Heaven had not completely turned against them. For with so many cruel deaths one began to wonder. ‘Oh God, send us a boy,’ prayed the Queen Mother; and being herself she could not help adding: ‘You owe that to us.’
    Edward was deeply involved in matters of state. He was concerned about possible trouble on the Welsh border and these matters occupied him so much that he seemed to feel the family bereavement less than the Queen Mother expected.
    ‘He is not like his father,’ she mourned. But then who could be like that beloved man? Henry would have forgotten everything in his grief for his daughter. He never allowed state matters to come before his love of his family.
    Her son Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, was preparing to leave for France. When he came to say goodbye to her she could scarcely restrain her emotion.
    ‘It seems as though you are all going away,’ she mourned.
    Edmund was of a merry nature. Light-hearted and popular with his friends – perhaps because he was notoriously generous – he lacked his brother’s seriousness. Of course he had not the responsibilities.
    ‘I shall be back ere long, dear lady,’ he assured her. ‘Back with my bride.’
    ‘Oh, Edmund, I trust she will be a good wife to you.’
    ‘I am sure of it,’ he said with characteristic optimism.
    She looked at him with affection – the slightly stooping shoulders which had earned him unfairly the name of Crouchback endeared him to her. He was so much more vulnerable than Edward, and she was beginning to feel a certain resentment towards Edward because he showed so clearly that he did not need her and was not going to listen to her advice. That affair of the bridge had made a rift between them. He would always be her beloved son, of course, her firstborn, the most handsome young man she had ever seen – but he was showing clearly that he did not need her and she had always been at the very heart of her family. It is well for him, she thought, that he has a meek wife without a thought in her head but to say ‘yes, yes, yes’ to everything he wants. That suits him well. He would not tolerate a woman of spirit.
    She smiled, thinking of her husband’s pride in her, how he would never have thought of acting without her. Oh Henry, Henry, if only you were with me now!
    ‘My dear son,’ she now said to Edmund, ‘be wary of the French. My sister married the French King and I have received help from them – mainly through her – but I would say be wary of them.’
    ‘Never fear. I shall be able to look after myself and my interests.’
    ‘There is nothing that can bring more comfort to the family. Tell me of Blanche, your wife-to-be, this daughter of Robert of Artois.’
    ‘And through him royal. As you know, her first husband was Henri Count of Champagne, and King of Navarre.’
    ‘She is a beautiful woman, I hear, and has already proved she can bear children.’
    ‘She has a daughter of her first marriage – Jeanne. I trust she and I will have sons and daughters.’
    The Queen Mother nodded. ‘I remember Robert well. I was in France when my sister married the French King. That made a bond between France and England when I became your father’s bride. But although they said that my sister’s husband was a saint and indeed called him Saint Louis, I never trusted them. Your father was to learn many a bitter lesson through them.’
    ‘This will be a good marriage, dear Mother. Through Blanche, Champagne will come to me until