Passage to Pontefract by Jean Plaidy Page B

Alice had it. Catherine had it. My God, he thought. It makes slaves of us all whoever we be.
    ‘Edward wants you to go out again,’ went on the King. ‘He says the King of France is bent on a conquest of Aquitaine. He has heard that the Dukes of Anjou and Berry are assembling two armies for the attack. Edward is sick. Joan does not wish him to go to war.’
    ‘Joan would not be able to prevent him if Aquitaine were attacked.’
    ‘I know it well. But I want you to go out there, John. I want you to leave as soon as you can muster an army. What can you raise?’
    ‘I could attempt to get together four hundred men at arms and, say, four thousand archers.’
    ‘Do it, John. Would to God I could go with you. Affairs in England …’
    Alice looked at him and smiled provocatively.
    ‘You’re a minx,’ said the King.
    John turned away impatiently.
    ‘Have I offended the Duke of Lancaster?’ asked Alice mockingly.
    ‘Nonsense, my dear. John is delighted with one who is so good to me.’
    ‘My lord,’ said John, ‘I have much with which to occupy myself if I am to raise this army in good time. I pray you give me leave to go about my business.’
    ‘Go, John. Go. I expect to hear good news of you.’
    As he left Alice’s laughter echoed in his ears.
    How could a great man become a slave of his passion? he thought. It made him none the more easy in his mind because he could understand the King’s feeling for his siren.

    The Black Prince was at Cognac awaiting John’s arrival. He was coming with a big force. Four hundred men at arms and four thousand archers should give them what they needed.
    The Prince was fighting off one of those debilitating attacks of dysentery which were occurring with alarming frequency. Joan had been against his coming. ‘Leave it to others,’ she had said. ‘You have done your part. You have earned a rest.’ He could not heed her though. Battle was in his blood and he could see that if he was not there these possessions in France, so vital to England, could slip away.
    The King of France was naturally taking advantage of the situation and must be rejoicing in the disability of the Black Prince.
    But John would come with his army and they would stand together. He felt uneasy about John. He had always known of his brother’s ambition. He had now brought with him a commission that such places of Aquitaine which gave their allegiance to the King of England should be received into favour. He, John, would be the arbiter, in the absence of the Black Prince. Was John trying to take over Aquitaine from his brother?
    No, it was reasonable enough. Edward was ailing. There were times when even in camp he was too weak to rise from his bed.
    He must not be suspicious of his own brother; and yet the anxieties would not be entirely dismissed.
    He felt old and ill and disillusioned. His life was battle. He had been bred to it; and since his father had laid claim to the throne of France he had been dedicated to that goal. He himself would one day be King of England and King of France. He must not forget that. And he must make those thrones safe for little Edward.
    Thinking of his son gave him heart. As fine a boy as he had ever seen. Joan scolded him and said he spoilt his eldest son. She was always trying to push Richard forward. Richard was a good boy, it seemed, but he was not like his elder brother. Never mind. They would have a scholar in the family. It did not matter as long as they had the kingly Edward as the firstborn.
    He was depressed nevertheless. He had heard only recently of the death of Sir John Chandos. Beloved friend of his childhood who had been close to him ever since. Chandos had saved his life at Poitiers and he had been rewarded with the manor of Kirkton in Lincolnshire, but nothing could be an adequate reward for what he had done. Chandos once said that he had the reward which meant most to him – the Prince’s lifelong friendship.
    And now Chandos was dead – killed in battle.