The Hammer of the Scots by Jean Plaidy Page A

wondered what future there was for him and his sister in Wales.
    He loved his mother; he had revered his father. It was a source of anger that the great man of his times – as he believed his father to have been – should have died ignobly. It was not so much that he had been killed in battle. That was an honourable way for a man to die. But what they had done to his body afterwards … How dared they! So to humiliate the remains of the great Simon de Montfort! And then they wondered why his brothers had done the same to Henry of Cornwall.
    ‘Are you there, Almeric, my son?’ asked the dying Countess.
    ‘I am here, Mother.’
    ‘You must leave for Wales as soon as the ship comes.’
    ‘We shall not leave you, Mother.’
    ‘’Twould be better for you to leave without delay.’
    ‘Do not fret about the matter. Rest assured all will be well.’
    ‘Take care of your sister.’
    ‘Trust me, dear Mother, to do that.’
    She closed her eyes as though in relief.
    She was right. They should leave as soon as the ship came. Messengers could be arriving at any moment to tell them they should set out. His sister would never agree to leave her mother though – nor would he.
    Ever since Evesham the family fortunes had been in decline. Oh how foolish of Guy and Simon to commit a murder which shocked the world! Guy had always been violent and he had hated his cousin Edward; he used to say Edward had everything in his favour. Perhaps in those days in the royal schoolroom they had all been a little envious of Edward. The Golden Boy, the King’s son, the heir to the throne. The one who gave himself airs and tried to rule them all – taller than any of them, the one who was selected for attention and homage even in those days. Guy had hated him and tried to turn them all against him. Henry of Cornwall had been one of those boys – the eldest – and he had been Edward’s staunch ally. Henry the noble boy, who led Edward along the path of virtue. Edward the future King, Henry the saint. It was small wonder that they had made Henry their victim. Almeric could imagine the vicious joy with which Guy had mutilated Henry’s body.
    Oh it was a foolish thing to have done. It had set the whole world against them. It had brought disrepute on the great de Montfort name. Now when people mentioned it they spoke of the murder rather than the great good which their father Simon de Montfort had brought to England.
    Almeric would never forget that time when he had been accused with his brothers of the murder. This was a great trial to him for not only had he been educated in the Church but he was innocent of the crime. It was easy for him to be arrested as he had been working in the university of Padua at the time. Thank God he had been able to prove that he had been nowhere near Viterbo when the murder had been committed and had in fact been desperately ill with a fever.
    Now he had been called to his mother’s bedside and it occurred to him that if this marriage into Wales could be brought about and Llewellyn became King of England, the fortunes of the de Montforts would be reversed. His sister Queen of England! Proud Edward deposed! What a glorious prospect. And Merlin had prophesied that a Llewellyn should be a King of England. If it were this Llewellyn …
    His mother’s breathing was becoming more difficult. He wondered if he should call the priest.
    His sister came in and when she looked at the bed her beautiful eyes were sorrowful.
    She knelt by the bed, and her mother sensing her presence stretched out a hand.
    Eleanor took it.
    ‘I am here, Mother,’ she said.
    ‘Go … and be happy,’ said the Countess. ‘Almeric …’
    ‘Yes, my lady.’
    ‘Take care of your sister. Promise me. Take her to her bridegroom. Start afresh … Do not grieve.’
    She closed her eyes, smiling. Perhaps, thought the young Eleanor, she was thinking of her own marriage; those days when she, the bold adventurous princess, widow of an old man, had met