09 The King’s Concubine by Anne O’Brien

Author:Anne O’Brien
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mistresses, England/Great Britain, Royalty, 14th Century, Fiction - Historical
ISBN: 9781101586679
Publisher: New American Library
Published: 2012-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Edward went into immediate conference with Gaunt. I knew nothing of the discussions, always the preserve of men, but I saw the results. The King was once more at the head of affairs, the reins firmly in his fist: Gaunt was ordered to Gascony with an army to give the beleaguered Prince some aggressive support against French incursions. Even more impressive, Edward ordered a second attack from Calais under a tough old campaigner, Sir Robert Knolles. If I had needed any evidence of Edward’s recovery, it was this: a two-pronged attack from north and south that he had used in his early campaigns to good effect. At the same time a whirlwind of envoys was dispatched to the Low Countries, to Germany and Genoa, to enlist allies against the King of France.

Edward’s nights were spent with me, where anxieties still gnawed at him.

“I should be leading the attack,” he fretted. “Am I not strong enough?”

“Of course you are.”

But the depredations of Philippa’s death had dug deep. His strength was much restored, but however much I might not like to admit it, Edward’s mind had lost its incisive edge. While he was playing chess, reading a book of favorite poetry, enjoying the music of a well-played lute and sweet singing, his concentration could vanish, his awareness of his surroundings drifting away like high clouds under the strength of a summer sun. Even his confidence waned. And as it faded, my fears for him grew. He would never lead his troops with the same superb flamboyance, if at all. And yet I gave thanks: The isolation was over and Edward was reunited with his Court. A victory at Gaunt’s hands in France would in some measure restore Edward’s confidence in his ability to make well-balanced decisions. I poured two cups of fine Bordeaux, a wine symbolic of Edward’s possessions.

“To England’s victory!” I raised mine, and drank.

“To England! And to you, my love.” Edward kissed me with all the passion of a mighty king.

I celebrated too soon, of course. The news that trickled in over the coming months was not good. In the north King Charles of France had learned from past mistakes and refused to be drawn into battle against a major force. Knolles, increasingly vilified, lost impetus and authority, his troops becoming separated and easy meat for the French vultures to pick off. In the south we fared better. Limoges was sacked and burned, which put a stop to the French cause in that vicinity, but all we heard were tales of the Prince’s being forced to return to Bordeaux, abandoning the attack, defeated not by the French but by his own pain-racked body.

Edward’s convictions drained away.

“Gaunt is there,” I soothed. “He will take control. There is no need to worry.”

But increasingly Edward looked inward and was reluctant to talk to me. Nor did I realize the problem until I saw him waiting on the battlements for news that did not come, with young Thomas clamped to his side by

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