Chapter 41: The Good Lord Give’th
Gunhilda, Countess of Devon- Early morning, The Queens Bed chamber, London, 12th April 1079
“It will pass Highness, I promise it shall pass” the Princess Gunhilda held back the Queens hair as she vomited into the chamber pot, this was the fifth day in a row that the Queen had risen with the dawn feeling immense nausea and it was becoming quiet obvious what the cause was. Wynnflaed wrench again, the smell clogging the Countesses nostrils.
The Baroness of Beaumont offered Gunhilda a towel for the Queens face, smiling at them both “It is a blessing from God your Highness I assure you, I myself felt as if death was becoming me when I was pregnant with Robert.” Gunhilda shot the aging lady a sharp glance, this was not helpful at all as the Queen continued to spew her stomach into the small copper bowl.
“I am not sure I agree Mathilde that this is any kind of blessing” the words caught in her throat as she heaved again and the Countess, rubbed her back gently.
‘Shall I inform the King, Wynnflaed? He will be overjoyed.’ The Queen tried to wave them away, wiping her mouth.
‘I shall inform the King if you like my Lady, no doubt the Countess would be better served helping you here.’ Mathilde had come back to court at Wynnflaed request and as always, she was ever eager to gain favor, taking the King news of the Queens condition would no doubt earn her great reward.
The Queen sat up, kneeling before the bowl as the Countess straightened her hair and the Lady Cecilia dabbed at her face ‘The Countess may tell the King, Baroness. It is her right as my Mistress of the Robe to inform the King of these matters, though I thank you for the offer.’ Wynnflaed was facing away from Mathilde, but she did not need to see her to know the scowl that no doubt now etched itself on her face, Margaret sat on the bed before her was smiling and she took that as confirmation of the Baronesses displeasure.
King Richard- Morning, The Council Chamber, London, 12th April 1079
Richard glanced over the map before him as the Chancellor, Bishop Rolland indicated were the Welsh rebels forces were now moving, the Princedoms of Wales had collapsed entirely and a power struggle was now ensuing across the valleys. Though Richard had decided that England would not concern itself with their travails directly, it was a foolish King indeed who despite fair weather did not look out for storm clouds spreading into the west country.
“I have ordered the royal army to move into Shropshire in case any of the Celtic bastards forget which country they are fighting against and cross the border.” Odo of Ilchester, the new Lord Marshal was a hard man, not particularly imaginative either but Richard nodded his thanks whilst Rolland shot him a glance of rebuke for the interruption. Richard noted the sly smile from Baron William, obviously he counted the Mayor as a supporter of his and not a friend of the good Bishop.
The door to the Council chamber swung open without announcement and the guard who had been keeping watch looked horrified as the Countess of Devon barged past him. Baldwin her husband, the Kings friend and advisor shot to his feet, obviously angered by his wife’s display but Richard offered a calming hand as the Lady strode along the length of the table to bow before the King. “Good Lady, what brings you here? Is something wrong with the Queen or my daughter?” his heart thrummed with worry but the smile that was growing on the lady’s face soothed him instantly.
‘Highness the Queen is a little unwell, but she has sent me to see you’ Richard rose her up, looking curiously around the room ‘Her Highness is with child my cousin, we think a month gone for she has been sick every morning for the past week.’
Without thought for his dignity or that of the Countess, Richard leapt forward grasping her about the shoulders, kissing her cheeks and smiling all around before he marched at speed from the council chamber. Glory, glory he thought as he strode along, god finally would see him right but first he must see his wife. ‘LET THE BELLS OF ENGLAND RING, THE QUEEN IS WITH CHILD! BLESSINGS OF HEAVEN! LET ENGLAND REJOICE’
Queen Wynnflaed- Evening, The Queens Bedchamber, London, 24th November 1079
Sweat soaked Wynnflaeds brow, despite her exhaustion she stared down at the little bundle in her arms, Margaret stood beside the bed peering over at her new brother, she was getting rather tall noted the Queen despite her overwhelming joy. Gunhilda was washing her arms in a bowl of water, she had been forced to intercede in the delivery when it became clear that the midwife the Baroness of Beaumont had hired was utterly useless.
The Lady Adela, wiped the Queens brow “You did marvelously Highness and such a beautiful boy.” She had to agree with the Barons youngest daughter, her son was indeed beautiful, and it seemed quite strong as his arms groped out at her, hungry for life and for milk. Her heart swelled, and tears came to her eyes yet again, this little child, her little Prince was the one thing that she thought was impossible to have; something that she would love more than Richard and Margaret combined.
“Is Richard outside?” she addressed the question to anyone who would hear it, she was desperate to see him, but the look that was returned from those present suggested the King was not waiting just behind the door. She looked at Gunhilda, who was smiling at her and she understood immediately. The tragedy of his first wife, the former Queens’ delivery was no doubt etched in his mind and the terror of that bloody chamber must have haunted him all day long. She stroked her son’s face and then offered him to Margaret ‘Take him to your father my sweetheart, let him see the son that we have given to England.’
The Princess looked overjoyed, her arms trembling as she took hold of England’s most precious jewel though Wynnflaed was forced to glare down the hesitation of the Baroness and her daughters whom had stepped forward in a rush to grab her boy if he was dropped. Margaret curtsied, smiling down at her brother ‘I will take great care Highness…what do I call him? I must give him a name when I announce his entry.’
Wynnflaed thought for just a moment, it was obvious ‘We shall call him Richard, he will one day be Richard the Second and all will know then that our family is here to stay.’ She gripped the Princesses shoulder softly, reassuring her that indeed as far as she was concerned herself, the King, Margaret and now the new Prince were one family, one dynasty.
King Richard- Evening, The Great Hall, London, 25th December 1079
Never in his life had he been so happy, stood there on the royal dais accepting the homage of his vassals his heart almost burst with joy. The Christmas festivities were in full swing and England would remember forever the year that had just been, when the happiness of an entire nation was gifted to them by the Almighty.
The crown sat firmly on his brow and he had dressed in the finest clothes that could be bought, like one of the mighty Olympians from the Greek myths he shone brightly. Beside him Wynnflaed stood tall and proud, her robes trimmed with ermine and jewels shining on her fingers, before her stood the now sprouting Princess Margaret, the Queens hands placed firmly on each shoulder.
In his arms, wriggling and mewing, Prince Richard; his son, his heir and England’s glory.
King Richard- Afternoon, The Council Chamber, London, 11th January 1080
“Will you really have all Europe see you as a Queen-maker and meddler? The Princess is a good girl and will make a fine wife and Queen for some lucky Prince one day, but this idea really is a step to far Highness?” the Chancellor did not hold back in his critique of Richards suggestion and whilst it irked him a little he valued the Bishops honesty.
“It is not just for Margaret that I want this, England will prosper from a union with Gascoigne in time and a Duchess born is a worthy wife for my son and heir.” Richard had informed the council of his desire to place Margaret on the throne of Navarra and with that suggestion he had also proposed a betrothal for his infant son with the young Duchess of Gascoigne, now six and without a betrothed. The Council however, it seemed were not as enthusiastic as he had hoped.
The Mayor of Ilchester and Lord Marshal interceded before the Bishop could go on “Hispania is a hot bed my Lord of intrugie and warfare, the Christian Kings of the North war constantly with the Muslims of the South, mark my words Highness, if you place Margaret on the throne, England will never have peace so long as she reigns and we will be called year after year to go to her aid” he looked along the table seeking agreement ‘That cannot be in England’s interest?’
Richard smiled, he knew exactly how to play to Marshals cards ‘Do you doubt your own skill my friend? Surely you off all men with the Baron and his son could wrestle Navarra from the new Kings grip and see my daughter safely upon her throne?’
Odo blustered a moment, looking to William for support though his friend kept silent forcing him to reply ‘I did not say it can not be done my King, give me ten thousand men and I will have the Princess crowned but you must understand once she is upon the throne it will require a concerted effort to keep her there.’
‘And so we betroth Richard to the Duchess Aina and let Gascoigne help us to hold Navarra for her.’ The logic was sound, but the uncertainty on his council’s face suggested they questioned it. The King turned to his Steward, the Bishop of Abingdon ‘Can the treasury bare the cost without too much strain?’
Roger looked near dumbfounded at the unexpected address, fumbling through his papers to find an answer ‘For a short while yes, the economy is strong, taxes are reasonable and if a betrothal were to be formalized then that would relieve some of the burden of supply costs for a time I am sure.’
Beaumont, his life long friend clearly saw the argument moving against the Councils will for the King had planned for this meeting with care and it seemed with another’s guidance but before he could add his own advice Richard fired a shot that silenced the Barons complaints ‘Summon your son back to court my friend, we will need our best commanders and beside yourself and the Marshal few can compete with Robert on the field.’ Shock registered on the Barons face followed swiftly by pride and, so he swallowed his answer and nodded acceptance, he could not obstruct his son’s return to favor.
Queen Wynnflaed- Morning, The Royal Courtyard, London, 12th April 1080
Richard knelt before Margaret, the Princesses hand resting softly on his head in blessing. Wynnflaed had told her exactly what was expected off her in appointing her father as commander-in-chief of the expedition to Navarra and, she had carried out her small duty magnificently as the assembled courtiers applauded her.
As Margaret stepped back, the Queen moved forward, the Princess Gunhilda taking the little Prince from her arms as she went to offer her husband her blessing. She placed her hands gently over his brow ‘Go with God my husband and return to me quickly.’
Having declared a state of war between England and Navarra, the armies had assembled along the banks of the Thames and the plan had been to make immediately for Spain, but it had come as some surprise that the Count of Glamorgan had honoured his alliance with King Sancho III and was even know marching across the west country with an army intent on delaying the English expedition for there was no chance of thwarting it. Richards council had argued that the assault should be ignored, and a small force sent to deal with the upstarts, but the King had accepted the delay to his schedule and decided to put down the Welsh Count with every once of strength he possessed. According to Richard the idea being, that by smashing the Welsh army utterly he would send a clear message to the Princes in the Valleys that England was not to be trifled with.
Richard rose from her blessing smiling and placed a kiss firmly on her lips ‘Have no fear lady-wife, this will be like swatting flies. I shall deal with Glamorgan before the summer comes and then we shall make merry again before I head for Spain.’
She offered a slight bob, they had discussed this all in private but nevertheless this little tableau was a necessary piece of theatrics, intent on instilling fear in the enemy and confidence in friends. ‘I will make the preparations for Margaret’s coronation whilst you are away’ she reached out and pulled the beautiful, golden haired Princess to her side ‘Bring out little Queen victory my husband.’
He kissed both one last time and the swung up into the saddle, the White Hart standard unfurled beside the three lions. Earl Robert of Maine, Mayor Odo, Baldwin of Devon and William, Baron of Beaumont all gathering around Richard as he steered his horse through the palace gates, cheers and applauding crowds lining the streets before them.
King Richard- Noon, Warwickshire, 22nd May 1080
Looking back to watching the farmers of Derby herding their flocks across the sweeping northern moors, Richard had to smile at the similarities between that and his current state. Three weeks ago, they had stumbled across the army of Glamorgan, a paltry force in truth but brave perhaps for thinking they could offer some challenge to England’s might. It had taken but a few days however, to force the small contingent to change course, sending out large bodies of cavalry and ordering his commanders to ghost along the sides of the Welsh army, slowly but surely, they were guiding it back toward the border without even unsheathing their swords.
They would however, never reach Wales again. As Richards main force moved forward, pushing the Welsh army from Oxfordshire and into Warwickshire the armies of Baron William and his son, Robert were converging on them from the west country, unseen for the moment or unlooked for. The King hoped to catch the Counts force in a deadly vice and, with overwhelming force he hoped to shatter their army and thereby write the pathetic Earldom out of his Spanish endeavor at the outset and in so doing send a clear message to Wales; England, the King of England and his army ruled this island and he would brook no interference from the Celts. The Council and indeed the Baron had been demanding he make a display of strength toward the Western Principalities of his own supremacy, though he had been reluctant to waste his energy on such trifles, but Cadwegn had offered himself as the sacrificial lamb. Soon the sheep would be backed into their pen and the dogs would run amok.
) His casual disregard of others perfectly fits the time as well. 
