The Hammer of the Scots

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Although the King had been dead for more than a year, the Queen still mourned him. Somewhere across the sea was her son, the new King, who must now return to claim his crown. The Queen, who had so long ruled her husband, and therefore the Court, had been prostrate with grief. She could think of nothing but that he had gone for ever – that dear kind husband who had adored her from the day she had been presented to him as his bride.

She often smiled to recall how, when their marriage had been negotiated, he had haggled over the paucity of her dowry and there had been a time when it had seemed that because of her father’s poverty there would be no marriage. Yet as soon as he had set eyes on her such a consideration had been of no importance whatsoever, and from that moment and throughout his life he had made no secret of the fact that he considered himself the most fortunate of monarchs to have secured as his wife this dowerless daughter of an impoverished count. It was love at first sight and had continued throughout their lives. She had ruled him and that had made for connubial bliss such as was rarely experienced in royal households. That she had attempted to rule England at the same time had brought about less happy results.

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