The Hammer of the Scots by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

were …’
    ‘With your father? Oh they were wicked to him. They have been so mean … so parsimonious …’
    ‘Let us rejoice, Mother, that they seem to have forgotten their grievances. Let us hope that there will be no more uprising of the barons. People will always be ready to remember Simon de Montfort.’
    ‘That traitor!’
    ‘He opposed our father, my lady, but I do not think he ever meant to be a traitor. And his death at Evesham was … terrible. I must tell you of something strange that happened. Not long before I received tidings of Edward’s return and that we were to come south for the coronation, we were at Kinlochleven on the banks of the Tay. We were in the banqueting hall, the company talking, as such companies do, of their deeds and adventures, but I was melancholy as I have been since news of my father’s death and I had the wish to escape from their laughter and light chatter.
    ‘Then the name of Simon de Montfort was mentioned and one of my knights who had sometime since come from England talked of the battle of Evesham at which he had fought, and he boasted that he had struck the first blow which had killed de Montfort. I was weary of all the talk and I rose from the table and said that I would take a walk along by the river. My attendants came with me and among them was this knight. They saw that I was depressed for this talk of Simon de Montfort had reminded me of my father, and I kept thinking of that dreadful day when the news had come to me of his death. I fell into such melancholy that one of my women said they should play games to raise my spirits. So they did. The men wrestled together and there were contests of leaping and jumping and climbing the trees. Their antics were funny and I found myself laughing. The knight who had brought up the subject of Simon de Montfort was the winner of most of the sports, and one of my women said that I should bestow on him a mark of approval so I said I would give him my glove. They wanted a ceremony. He was to come and take it from me. As he stood beside me he looked down at his hands which were mudstained and he bowed low and said, “Gracious lady, I could not touch your hand in this state. Give me permission to go to the river and wash my hands.” I granted that permission. It was a sort of mock ceremony, you see. And when he bent over to wash his hands I signed to one of my women to push him into the river. This she did and there was much laughter. The knight turned to smile with us. “What care I?” he cried. “I can swim.” Then he began to show us all that he could be as skilled in the water as on land, and he cut all sorts of graceful figures as he moved away from the bank. We applauded and I called out that he was asking for further trophies. Then suddenly something happened. It was as though the waters were stirred by some invisible hand to form a whirlpool. He gave a wild cry and disappeared. His little page must have thought his master was calling for him and he ran down to the river and went in, swimming towards the spot where his master had disappeared. In a moment he too was out of sight.
    ‘“It is a game,” I said. “Our clever knight is trying to show us how clever he is.”
    ‘We waited, half laughing, expecting every second to see him rise and swim for the shore with his little page. It took us some time to realise that we should never see them again and to realise that our innocent frolic had ended in tragedy. We never discovered the body of the knight nor that of his page.’
    ‘My dear child, what a dreadful story! What was this whirlpool which suddenly appeared in the river?’
    ‘That we did not know, my lady. But I tell you this to let you know how the people – even of Scotland – remember Simon de Montfort. They said that Heaven was angry. That de Montfort was a saint and this was Heaven’s revenge on this knight because he had boasted of his part in the murder.’
    ‘There will always be those to attach