Виктория Холт - The Hammer of the Scots

‘Let us thank God for our Archbishop,’ said Edward to his Queen.

And so, side by side, Edward and Eleanor his Queen were crowned to the acclamation of the people, and after the ceremony they made their way to the great hall of Westminster where the feast had been prepared.

The royal pair wore the crowns which had so recently been placed on their heads, and Edward whispered to his Queen that he wondered how she was managing to support hers and trusting it was not too uncomfortable. She assured him that she could endure it, and she was overcome with emotion to think how fortunate she was, and she did not mean in becoming the crowned queen of such a country but in being given such a husband.

‘I vow,’ Edward whispered to her, ‘that once I can take it off my head I shall not wear it again in a hurry.’

‘You are still a king, Edward, and seen to be such, without your crown.’

He pressed her hand and amid the acclamation of the spectators took his place in the chair of state on the dais.

Now was the time for his subjects to do homage to him.

First came the King of Scotland – Alexander, husband to his sister Margaret. A fine figure of a man, this Alexander, a man of courage and pride. He had made it clear that he was not here to do homage to Edward as King of Scotland for one king did not bow the knee to another – but merely to recognise that Edward was his liege lord in relation to the land he, Alexander, held in England. Fair enough, Edward had said; and he was glad to have the King of Scots as an ally.

Alexander, whose kingdom was smaller than that of England, had by the very nature of kings to make a brave show of his power and riches and there was no one in the entire company more splendidly accoutred than he was. Edward had smiled to see his mother’s eyes sparkle at the contemplation of her son-in-law of Scotland. Any show of extravagance delighted her. She would have liked to see this occasion far more splendid. She would have to be cured, thought Edward. As for Alexander, he would doubtless have to face lean times to pay for the show he had made at the King of England’s coronation.

So Alexander rode into the hall accompanied by one hundred of his knights only slightly less splendidly garbed than himself, and when he came to the dais on which Edward was seated, he dismounted, throwing the reins on the neck of his horse so that it was loose to wander where it would. His knights did the same so that one hundred and one horses made their way out of the hall to where the people were crowding to see the ceremony.

The King of Scotland had it proclaimed that any who could catch the horses who would be discarded by his company might keep them. There were shouts of joy as the horses came out and were seized by the lucky ones who could catch them.

Not to be outdone in this lavish gesture and determined that the Scots might not have all the credit for such unparalleled generosity, the King’s brother, Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, who was also followed into the hall by one hundred knights, did the same. Then the Earls of Gloucester, Pembroke and Warenne let their horses free so that the most memorable event of that coronation day for the people was that five hundred valuable horses were let loose to become the property of any who could catch them.

But there was one other event which was of greater importance and Edward was deeply conscious of it.

One by one the great dukes, earls and barons came to swear their allegiance to the King but there was one notable absentee.

Edward caught the eye of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, who murmured, ‘I see not Llewellyn of Wales, my lord.’

‘And for a good reason, sir Earl. He is not here. What means this, think you?’

‘Defiance of the royal command, my lord.’

‘Trouble to come, Gilbert.’

‘It would seem so, my lord. But it is but a little chieftain of Wales.’

Edward nodded. All very well to refer to him as that. It was true up to a point but Wales like Scotland had long been a source of irritation – and worse – to Edward’s predecessors, and he had hoped that if he showed himself willing to be friendly, he might win the confidence of these people. And now Llewellyn had openly disobeyed the summons to come to the coronation. Edward could be sure that he was not the only one who had noted this – and many present would be aware of its significance.

A curse on Llewellyn!

But this was his coronation and he must feign to be merry and full of hope for the future. He must not allow it to be seen that the absence of a pert Welsh chieftain disturbed him.

But it was on his mind during the feasting which followed the allegiance ceremony. Very merry were those in the hall, and equally so those outside who danced and sang in the streets and grew intoxicated on the King’s free-flowing wine. Those who had acquired valuable horses were ready to die for the King … at least on coronation day.

The people happy; the future bright. What more could a king ask?

His Queen beside him – happy in his triumph, his mother pleased but comparing this with her own coronation which had been far more lavish, his family gathered about him – he should be content.

But he was too much of a king to be able to brush aside the fact that trouble could be brewing on the Welsh border.

When the company was getting drowsy through the wine, the heat and the merry-making, Edward was alert, still thinking of the Welsh defaulter. Gloucester, Pembroke and Warenne were aware of this.

‘Even had he come to the coronation we could not have been sure that he would not have gone back and made trouble,’ commented Warenne.

‘He could scarcely have done that after giving his oath,’ Edward reminded him. ‘At least not yet.’

‘’Tis better to know where we stand with him.’

‘How can we ever know where we stand with the Welsh?’ demanded Edward. ‘Give them opportunity and they are ready to go to war. Hasn’t it always been so?’

‘Since the days of the Conqueror,’ agreed Warenne.

‘And before,’ added Edward. ‘They can swoop on our lands, attack and then scuttle back into their mountains. You mentioned the Conqueror. He tried to stop it. He even ventured into Wales with an army. Then – great warrior that he was – he realised that because of its mountainous nature, to conquer that land would cost more in lives and wealth and time than it was worth. So he contented himself with forays and little wars which have been going on ever since. I see no reason to go against his judgement. He was a wise man, that ancestor of mine. He had a genius for strategy. He decided to make that strip of land through which all armies had to pass – the English or the Welsh to reach each other – a no man’s land. Then he set up those barons who have become known as the Marcher Barons, and in exchange for the lands he bestowed upon them they must guard the country and be responsible for keeping the Welsh in order. This state of affairs has been going on for two hundred years. I see no reason why it should be changed.’

‘And what has happened?’ asked Gilbert. ‘The Marcher Barons control the land and they, like the Welsh, have become a law unto themselves. They see themselves as apart from allegiance to any, even to you, my lord.’

‘That’s true,’ said Edward. ‘And since Llewellyn sees fit to flout me thus it occurs to me that it may be necessary for me to settle this question of the Welsh once and for all.’

‘Ah, if that could be done, my lord, I doubt not it would be good for England and for Wales,’ said Pembroke. ‘But is it possible?’

‘My lord,’ replied Edward, ‘nothing is possible to those who think it impossible. The first rule when undertaking a difficult task is to stop saying “I can’t” and say “I will”.’