Hand in Violent Hand

3 - Violent Delights 1328-1331

Violent Delights

"These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,"
-William Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet

Introduction

Based on true events

January 22, 1328, York, England

Fifteen year old Edward III has just been crowned king of England, after his father's forced abdication and rather timely death.

Edward III's mother, Isabela of Louvre, is Queen of England, and with her lover Roger Mortimer, is puppeteering her teenage son, living in splendor the pair are king and queen in all but name.

Edward III is set to marry Philippa of Hainult, a fourteen year old youngest child who should present no threat to Isabela's control of her son's throne.

Should.

Chapter 1: "These violent delights have violent ends"

Cold winds speed us safely towards England. My anticipation has been building ever since I left France, and now I can feel a smile playing on my lips. I must smother it. It wouldn't do to seem too eager. Nobody likes to see a young girl this pleased with her own designs. I can be cheerful. Cheerful is an entirely different thing than happy. Cheerful is naive. Happy is something close to satisfied. That's an odd thought. I have never been satisfied.
My people swarm around me. Everything must be perfect. I meet my new husband in a few hours. Husband for he's my husband in name we were married by proxy. I last saw him nearly two years ago, we were twelve and thirteen. And he was everything I'm looking for in a husband.
"Don't get too attached," my mother warned me, when I wept at our parting.
"But he's ideal," I said, wiping my tears delicately.
Edward is, entirely, ideal. He's just been crowned king. We have much to do if we have a country to run and a dynasty to build. And I saw in him a boy that could be a man that I could work with. All men must be got around in my world, and he's cruel and violent all things a man is, but he can be tempered. And he's young enough to be ruled, not tamed. No, never tamed.
And now I'm undergoing all the preparations befitting of a princess. My dress is of the finest silk, and I'm wearing furs because it's cold. I was suggesting green because it's the closest color to not looking fine with my skin. Most things look fine against my skin. But his mother will be there. His mother is always there. I know my battles. I thank god for my face. I'm comely. Big brown eyes and skin nothing like fair, by summer I'll be downright swarthy, my father's rich brown skin that England won't find at all attractive. No, I'm the homely little bride meant to bear the king's heirs and little else. I know what part I'm meant to play. But the marriage isn't to be consummated till I'm sixteen which isn't for eighteen months. And so for now I'm a pretty bird. Pretty enough. Can't be too pretty. Men love that but this isn't about them. This is about the women. And women, mostly older women, don't like it when you're young and pretty. So I can't be beautiful. No, just sweet, a young thing wrapped up in too many fine fabrics, that are too fine for the likes of her. That's what we're going for her. Trying to hard.
"Got to get your curls, there, I'll be glad to be done with this sea air," one of my nurses, Joan, says. I call her my nurse for she's one of the ones who nursed me so she is my nurse. Now she's just a lady in waiting who helps do my hair and such. She'll be going home, to France. I just get to keep a small set of people here in England with me. But I've chosen them carefully.
"All of England's close to the sea I'm sure it won't better," Agnes, another lady, mutters, she is staying with me my curls are her continued problem.
"I moved my knight to the-red square," Maggie sighs. Maggie's a bit older than me and has been my friend for a couple of years. And she's not yet sick of me but give her time.
"Move the counselor—diagonal to the right two spaces, Maggie," I say, frowning a little in thought, then smiling.
"I did—what—?"
I grin a little biting my lip.
"You won didn't you?" Agnes asks.
"That's checkmate then, isn't it?" I ask.
"It is, you're not going to be this cruel to your husband are you?" Maggie sighs, tiredly.
"No, I reserve this for you. And I'll have daughters soon enough," I say, as Maggie comes to help with my dress.
"You do look lovely," Joan says.
"Not at all what we're going for," I say, biting my lip to get it to bleed a bit, "Take a couple of furs off, I'm too warm I need to look a bit cold."
"Now, don't want you catching cold, you're over thinking it, they're going to love you," Joan says, tipping my chin up to study my face as though she can do anything about that.
"If I weren't over thinking it, then would you not assume I'd be kidnapped and switched out for some other girl who stands still when you pull at her hair?" I ask, tipping my head innocently.
"More than likely," William, a boy who is charged with carrying about my linens and, well, whatever is needed carrying about, says, coming in, "We're not far off from shore."
"That wasn't for you, Will," I say.
"Cheek, go up deck now, have them ready for her to come out," Maggie says, pushing him, before going back to packing up my chess set.
"Be kind to your husband, and the king's mother. I know you're not suited to it but you're lowest just now, get along, and learn your way around court, don't be playing your games and showing everyone how clever you are," Joan chides.
"I won't," it wouldn't do at all for them to know. They'll know eventually.
"Men don't like a woman cleverer than them."
"Then how do they claim to love women?" I ask.
"That's what I'm talking about, that mouth right there. Leave it in France, or in the channel. You can act dumb and sweet for a little bit, he'll leave you alone to be clever by yourself. But they don't like us knowing more than them," she says.
"Must be why they have such ill tempers," I say.
"Philippa."
"Got it," I say, smiling, "I can speak fairly. When I've the mind to."
"I've not seen it," William is back is seems.
"Out!" Three of us cry. The boy bolts.
"Look at me," Joan says, cupping my cheek with one hand, "Your mother taught you well. Play the part."
"I'll play the part," I say, quietly, checking my necklace, "On which subject, part I'm playing, can we switch this for the other one—with the chain like—yes that one, better."
"Why?" Maggie asks, well aware there's going to be a complicated answer.
"I have a long neck so this sort of chain makes it look a bit worse, than the other one," I say.
"Stop trying to make yourself look bad," Joan says.
"I'm not trying to look bad, all right? I'm trying to look a little inept and chubby and not at all like a threat," I say.
"You're meant to be getting married, you're a bride, not a threat," Joan sighs, I'm wearing. I know.
"I'm always a threat," I say, smiling my polite smile anyway.
"That's the mouth we said we were leaving in France? Honestly you need to get on with your new family."
"I'm going to! This is me getting all the—me—out to never have fun or speak freely again, for the rest of my life," I say. I hope not. I'll have daughters I can train. Maybe sons but no I'll only get time with daughters, men take their sons away from the mothers.
"Don't look pathetic. We all know you'll enjoy yourself, you make your own fun, well we will, won't we?" Maggie asks.
"Oh most definitely," I grin, wickedly.
"You've got like, ten minutes before we dock," William says, leaning down the stairs.
"Excellent—did all of you have your votes back in on an appropriate nervous gesture? Cause I really like biting my lips a bit and then rubbing the spots on my face but the hand thing wasn't bad as well—,"
"Yes, your best impression of a polite girl is lovely, now put your shoes on," Joan says.
"I liked the lip bite, Philippa," Maggie says, fetching my shoes.
"Thank you, Mags."
"Oh I was going for the hand thing—what?" Agnes asks as Joan shoves her.
"Just be yourself," Joan says.
"Oh god no, not that," Maggie nearly drops my shoes.
"Be the lovely girl that's in there, past all the cleverness, and yearning to be a man," Joan says.
"I don't want to be a man," I say, wrinkling my nose.
"Well your brain does, child," Joan says, tucking a stray curl back beneath the veil. I'm to look quite the bride. But not blushing, and not fair. No. I know fully well his mother picked me because I'm plain. I'm fine being plain. It makes it all that much easier. "Now let's get you up top."
My ladies have to help carry my train as I walk up the steps to stand on the deck of the boat. I've blessedly proven to have a strong stomach and haven't been the least bit sea sick. I appreciate that, but I do try to look a bit sea sick.
The rock shore of England is appearing out of the fog. Perpetual fog, and it's so grey here. I do love stormy days. I remove my smile, trying to look a bit sea sick and concerned.
My husband awaits.
On the shore the party waits to greet me. On the docks that is. I can't pick my husband out at first. The last time I saw Edward was nearly two years ago, which isn't such a long time, but we were twelve and thirteen and thirteen is a far cry from fifteen. Edward was just a boy then, a prince being held captive in all but name by his mother and her lover. They arranged the match, which he opposed as his father had told him not to get married. He was fine with, me, however, confiding in me that he did love his father, and wished to return home as his father had ordered, but that his mother would not let him. He admitted all this to myself and my sister, whom his father had suggested he marry. But my sister was engaged by then and Edward didn't particularly care, being thirteen, he was more concerned with getting himself home. There wasn't genuine affection there though I feigned some for him as I did think he'd make a good husband.
Now he's the king of England, crowned nearly year ago. It's January, he was crowned last February. And now his father is dead and I've been sent for. My mother wasn't sure it would come. I'm not the best match. But his mother had seen me. She knows I'm younger than he, and comely. That's what she wanted. She couldn't risk a bride with aspirations for power. Too bad she got one. She doesn't need a pretty bride who will be fairer than her and win her sons heart. Well I know I'm not fair. But I'll win his heart anyway, I may not be beautiful but I'm still a woman. And he's a man.
I spot him among them. He's taller than when he last met, and his youth is melting away rapidly from a surprisingly handsome face. Fair blue eyes, thick golden brown hair, tall but not too tall, lean enough to be considered boyish, a mole on his left cheek, and a smooth smile when he sets on me. He's still ideal it would seem.
Edward takes after mother and father both in looks, they say his father quite handsome, and his mother is especially pretty with rich gold hair and a fine figure despite four children and advancing age. But at only seventeen odd years younger than her fifteen year old she's barely past thirty which has yet to do her any ills. She's decked out as ever the queen in a red dress, of course rivaling my beauty.
And two steps behind the queen is the viper. Roger Mortimer. He's dressed more like the King than Edward is, and knows it too. He oozes arrogance. The sort of man I seem conditioned to hate, as he looks at me with interest unnecessary to his station. He's dark haired and eyed, something like handsome if you ignore the atmosphere of self importance around him.
Edward has a small party soon I'll learn their names I'm sure, for now they're just faces in the crowd, and Edward betrays nothing by looking to any of them. No wait, he does glance at one of them. A bit older than him, also fair with blue eyes and blonde hair, a bit taller and clearly our senior by perhaps ten years. Edward just glances at him and the man nods a bit encouragingly. Likely a sword master, or someone who did his tutelage, or something of that kind. We're nobility, we've got real parents then surrogate parents abound, the people who engendered us, then the people who've seen us cry at night who know what type of food we like and are privy to our most inconsequential secrets. That'll be someone important to learn I'll note it for later. Us girls just have women, but as a man he'll have male and female minders thus, a governess or something of that kind. I met none when he visited, but then he was with his mother and all her people he didn't have his people really.
My ship docks. I wait politely while they get the ramp up so we can walk off, and of course my ladies have to help carry my train and flank me. We're all done out in our best. I keep my eyes lowered but glance up. Edward's mother is watching, she looks me up and down and nearly smirks. She knows she's prettier than I am. Good. We both want it that way.
Edward moves forward to greet me, properly of course. Ever the prince, now the king, raised for little else, he knows all the proper posture all the right moves to make. He smiles politely, then a little genuinely at seeing me. So he still is fond of me? No one else stolen his heart I didn't think he had the time but men make the time.
I curtsy, low, bending my head. The waves still crash behind us and I inhale cool sea air. It is a beautiful day.
"Welcome to England," Edward says, a bit quietly, bowing himself before moving to take my hands. We are married by proxy so I am already his bride. He could kiss me.
He does, bending forward to kiss my cheek, but his lips don't meet it, instead, he whispers, "Trust no one. We are not safe here."