The Battle of the Queens by Jean Plaidy Page A

that leaves you and Isabella. It is you they want for there would be too much delay with Isabella.’
    Joan began to laugh rather uncertainly.
    ‘I am glad you are amused,’ said the Queen.
    ‘It is not amusing, my lady, to be thrown from one to the other like a ball with little concern for its inclination.’
    ‘Princesses do not have inclinations. They do as they are told.’
    ‘Not always. You didn’t.’
    ‘I was betrothed to Hugh and John took me.’
    ‘You wanted to go, my lady, I trow, or you would not have done so.’
    She smiled slowly, as though remembering.
    Then she looked at her daughter and said: ‘No. I was forced by your father. My parents would never have dared go against him.’
    ‘But you would, my lady.’
    ‘Well,’ she said, ‘he held out a crown to me, did he not? I did not know then that he was a madman … the cruellest madman in the world. And in the end he died and I came back to Hugh.’ She softened suddenly. ‘Be clever, child. Yes, be wise and it may well be that one day you will be able to take what you want.’ She was brisk suddenly. ‘Now, be prepared. Tomorrow you leave. It must be so, for if you do not we shall be excommunicated and that is something your stepfather dreads. It could bring us great harm. So you must go.’
    ‘I will make ready,’ said Joan stonily.
    The Queen’s face softened as she laid her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.
    ‘Don’t be afraid. Make the best of your life. Be clever and you should get something of what you want. I hear that Alexander of Scotland is a fine handsome young man.’
    She kissed her daughter swiftly.
    ‘You should rest,’ she said, ‘and be ready to set out at dawn.’
    And the next day the Princess Joan set out for England.

    The young King Henry was beginning to enjoy his position. The apprehension which had first been with him when he had heard of his father’s death and realised what, as his eldest son, this would mean to him, had disappeared and the situation was proving to be far more gratifying than he would have believed possible. He could not help but feel some elation at the respect which was shown him by people like the Archbishop of Canterbury and Hubert de Burgh. It was true that they expected him to do what they wanted, but being wise beyond his years he was prepared to follow them until that time when he was able to act with confidence without them. He had immediately realised that what he must do was learn quickly, for the sooner he was competent to make his own decisions, the sooner he would escape from the yoke. For the time being he would remain docile, listen avidly and agree to their advice.
    The days were full of interest. When he was alive William Marshal had insisted that the young King attend meetings of his ministers. ‘You may not understand their discourse,’ he had said, ‘but take in what you can, and in time you will learn how these matters should be conducted.’
    Now William Marshal was dead and his chief adviser was Hubert de Burgh. He liked Hubert. He was not so serious as the Marshal had been. He was warm-hearted, more emotional, far less stern than William Marshal, who had given the impression that he was a man of such honour that all the little peccadilloes of normal people seemed like mortal sin to him.
    Henry was far more in awe of Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury – a man whose spiritual qualities set him apart from other men. He was intellectual, a man with a stern sense of duty which had brought him into conflict with both King John and Rome. As he had been suspended from office he had spent much time in writing – sermons, and commentaries on the Bible; he had many detractors, naturally, but Hubert had told Henry that he was a strong man and it was good to have such a man at the head of the Church in England.
    A good man, no doubt, thought Henry, but an uncomfortable one.
    He had recently come back to England to take up his office at Canterbury and Hubert had