Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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helping them any more than the King had.

It was frequently said that had Great Edward been alive, he would have

found some way of righting their wrongs. The fact that Edward the Second

looked so much like his father made them more critical.

Beset by famine, disease and the knowledge that Robert the Bruce despised

them so much that he had penetrated far into the country, that the Welsh had dared raise a rebellion and that Ireland was in the hands of the Scots, they began to look round for a scapegoat.

The Queen sitting quietly at her tapestry with her women about her was not inwardly as serene as she appeared.

Young Edward was four years old. A sturdy child whose health gave no

cause for concern, he was long-legged, flaxen-haired, full of high spirits and devoted to his mother. Isabella had made sure of that. On this child rested her hopes. She was certain that the time would come when they could stand

together― perhaps against his father. She had thought that that day might be soon when Lancaster had taken the King’s power from him; she had admired

Lancaster, but now she was not so sure. He was not an energetic man; in fact he was inclined to be lazy. What was he doing about the famine and the disastrous incursions of the Scots in Northern England and Ireland?

Lancaster was not the man she needed and it would seem that the time was

not yet ripe. But she must remain watchful. She sat stitching one of her women said to another: ‘It is such a silly story. I am sure no one believed it.’

Isabella roused herself and wanted to know what this story

The woman was confused. ‘I scarcely like to say, my lady. It was clearly a madman―’

‘Nevertheless I wish to hear.’

‘My lady, it is so very foolish―’

‘I have said I wish to hear,’ retorted the Queen coldly.

Her women were afraid of Isabella. She had never been severe with them

and yet they were aware of a certain ruthlessness in her. They had often

admitted to each other that they would not care to displease the Queen. And they would shiver and then wonder why they felt this fear of her so strongly

Now the woman said quickly: ‘Just a bit of gossip, my lady. They were

talking to the King― it was nonsense.’

A faint colour showed itself under the Queen’s skin; her eyes glittered and the woman hurried on: ‘They said― on forgive me, my lady― it must have

been the words of a madman― they said that the king was a changeling― not

the true son of Great Edward. They said that one of his nurses dropped the Prince when he was a baby. He was killed and this maid being so terrified put another baby in his place.’

The Queen burst into loud laughter in which her women joined, relieved.

‘A ridiculous tale indeed! You are right to think so.’ She smiled at the

woman who had told the story. ‘Did you ever see one who more resembled his father than the King?’

‘No, my lady, never.’

‘I have heard it said that he is the image of what the old King was at his age.’

‘It is certainly so, my lady.’

‘That nurse was very clever, was she not― to find a baby who looked so

like the King?’

They laughed and, chattering, recalled other absurd bits of gossip they had heard from time to time.

But the Queen did not treat the matter as light-heartedly as she pretended to do. It was true it was a ridiculous story, but the fact that it had been invented in the first place and been passed round was an indication of how people’s minds were working.

They were growing disillusioned with the King. There must be an idea—

faint as yet– to dispossess him; which was why the notion that he was a

changeling would be allowed to flourish.

The people no longer admired him. They wanted a King like the first

Edward, a strong ruler, victorious in battle, one at the mention of whose name the enemy quailed. Robert the Bruce had never been greatly in awe of Edward the Second. What had he said? ‘I am more afraid of the spirit of Edward the First than the armies of Edward the Second. It was more difficult to get a square inch of land from the First Edward than it would be a kingdom from the

Second.’

Oh yes, they were beginning to despise the King. So the changeling story

was welcomed.

That night she went to Edward’s chamber and talked to him of the funeral of Piers Gaveston. She wanted to hear how impressive it was and how

magnificently Walter Reynolds had presided.

How she despised him as she listened! What a fool he was! At this time

when the people were suffering from the disasters of the harvest how could he spend so much money on the burial of the man whom the people had hated more than any other!

Did he not see how precarious his position was? Had he forgotten what had

happened to his grandfather King Henry III and his great grandfather King

John?

Edward was a fool― a weak fool.

She stroked his hair. She must have children. What would her position be

without children? She had her stalwart young Edward but he was not enough.

Children were so delicate― particularly it seemed were boys. Her powerful

father was dead– the victim, they said, of the curse of Jacques de Molai. She could look for little help from her family. Her brother Louis, called le Hutin because he quarrelled with everyone, was ailing. It was being said throughout France that none of the sons of Philip the Fair could prosper because of what their father had done to the Templars. Isabella shivered to contemplate what that awful scene must have been like with the Grand Master calling his curse on the royal house of France as the flames consumed him. His Queen was with child and there were fears that the curse might prevent her producing a healthy male child which was so urgently needed.

No, there was no hope of help from Louis.

Isabella must stand on her own, and now she knew that Lancaster was a

weak man, she would have to look for other support if ever she was going to save herself from the humiliation the King had made her suffer.

But she would never forget.

In the meantime the more children she had the higher her hopes. Desperately she needed a son.

That was why she made herself charming to Edward, and he, obtuse as he

was, believed her attitude towards him meant that she cared for him.

–――――――

The Queen was pregnant and, though the King was pleased with this, and

when the Queen rode out through London the people cheered her, their

resentment against him was growing.

It was the old trouble– King against barons, and there was always the

danger that this would break out into civil war. Only a strong King could keep the barons at bay and Edward was scarcely that.

What had angered him most about Lancaster’s high-handed manner was the

fact that he had succeeded in robbing him of his friends. The departure he most regretted was that of Hugh le Despenser. Despenser, a man of more than fifty years, had served Edward the First well and he had been ready to the same for his son. At Edward’s coronation he had carried part of the royal insignia and from that time had shown himself to be the King’s man.

When the barons had stood against dear Perrot, Hugh le Despenser had been

the only one of them who had given him his support. That was something

Edward would always remember.

Of course a great many cruel things had been said against him at the time.

They said he was avaricious and that he thought by currying favour of the King and his favourites he would be well rewarded. They were strong, those barons, and they dismissed him from the council.

But there was something very resilient about Hugh. It was not long before

he was back. The King was delighted to see him and presented him with the

castles of Marlborough and Devizes. When Gaveston was murdered it was Hugh who was beside the King, trying to offer that comfort which no one could really give. Hugh understood perfectly and the King was fond of him.

They used to talk a great deal together. Hugh hated Lancaster.

‘Forgive my anger, my lord,’ said Hugh, ‘for I speak of your cousin, but I would I might challenge him to combat. With what joy would I run my sword

through that arrogant body.’

‘Ah, Hugh,’ replied the King, ‘you are a true friend to me. And God knows, I have little left to me. When Perrot was alive―’

Then he would tell Hugh about the wonderful life they had had together and the King found he could laugh again over the wit of Piers Gaveston with

someone who could understand it.

Then Bannockburn where Hugh had been with the army in the débâcle and

afterwards, when Lancaster was saying who and who should not serve him,

Hugh was one of those who were dismissed.

‘To be a King and not a King,’ mourned Edward. ‘I would be happier as one

of my poorest subjects.’

Hugh le Despenser had a son named Hugh like himself. Young Hugh was a

most beautiful young man― one who came as near to Perrot in that respect as anyone could come in the King’s eyes, and young Hugh had now become his

chamberlain.

Strangely enough he had been sent by Lancaster, for this beautiful youth had allied himself, against his father, to the barons.

It was a pleasure to talk to him, for he was amusing and gay. He was light-hearted, cheerful and whenever he was given a present he would be so delighted that it gave Edward great pleasure to bestow gifts on him.

Isabella had watched the King’s growing absorption in young Hugh le

Despenser with increasing irritation.

It is going to be Gaveston all over again, she thought. Why was I married to a creature like this?

There were times when she had difficulty in controlling her fury. She hated Edward; yet she was tied to him. She longed for a strong and passionate man, someone who would work with her, who was ambitious and above all, aware of all she had to give. Yet here she was married to one whom she considered only half a man, but he happened to be a king and as she wanted power as much as adoration and affection she had to walk very carefully. If this child she carried was a son, she would have made another step forward. She must have sons.

She saw what was happening so clearly. She understood these people around

her as Edward never could.

The elder Hugh le Despenser had sent his son to the barons. The artful old schemer! She understood it might well be because he thought one of them

should be in either camp. ‘You, my son,’ she was sure he had said, ‘will go to the barons and support them, while I stand beside the King. Then whichever way the tide turns one of us will be in the safe ship. Our estates will be saved and it should not be impossible for the winner to rescue the loser.’

Sound reasoning and worthy of the wily old Despenser.

Then bumbling Lancaster had stepped in. Young Hugh was a presentable

fellow, one who could well find favour with the King. Let him go into the royal household, keep his eyes open and report anything worthy of note to his

masters. He should make a good spy for the Lancastrian party.

Clever! no doubt Lancaster thought.

Old fool, thought Isabella. It can’t be long before even Lancaster sees what he has done.

And to think that she had once thought of throwing in her lot with him! Oh, how clever she was to wait, to play her game cautiously!

She would have a few more children by Edward– and there must be no

doubt in anyone’s mind that they were royal children– and then they would

see.

In the early part of August she returned to Eltham Place there to await the birth of her child and to her great joy on the fifteenth of that month a boy was born.

There was great rejoicing and the child was christened John.

He was known as John of Eltham.

–――――――

There was another year of famine. Rain had fallen continuously throughout

the summer; the fields were marshlands and the crops once more were ruined.

The people declared that it was not the French who were cursed, but the

English.

‘This would never have happened in Great Edward’s day,’ was the constant

comment. He would never have allowed his people to suffer. He would have done something. He would never have let the Scots beat him. He had been a

great King. And what had they now?

There were jokes about the King’s relationship with pretty Gaveston. Did

they remember all that money which was spent on making a fine tomb for him at Langley? Such extravagance while the people went hungry.

There was something wrong with England as events were proving and they

must look to their King for the reason.

Then John Drydas appeared.

He was the son of a tanner from Powderham and all his life people had

commented on his long legs, his flaxen hair and his likeness to the King.

People used to nod and wink and say that if Edward the First had not been a moral man, never known to stray from his marriage bed, it would have been

almost a certainty that John of Powderham was the result of some rural royal frolic.

The likeness was uncanny.

John of Powderham was a dreamer. He used to fancy that he was the son of

the King. When famine struck Powderham he used to sit on the green with the villagers gathered round him and tell them what he would do if he were king. He would see that the people were fed; he would have prayers said in churches, he would have prayers and offerings made to the saints that they might intercede with God to shut off the rain and bring out the sun. There was so much he would do if he were king.

‘Tis a pity you’m not the King, John Drydas,’ said his friends. ‘You’m

wasted tanning skins.’

He began to think that he was. Ever since he was a boy he had been

interested in the King for the likeness had been evident from early days. Some said that one of the King’s ancestors might have fathered a son on some country wench years ago and the likeness had come through in her descendants. Faithful husbands Henry the Third and Edward the First could certainly not be blamed.

But the royal streak was there.

When the story of the changeling had been spread about it had been of the

utmost interest to John of Powderham. He had talked of nothing else for days.

Then the idea had come to him. ‘It were like a dream,’ he said, ‘and yet

t’were not a dream. It was some fancy I had of long ago― I were lying in a room all silks and velvets― I remember it hazy-like― like there be a mist

between me and that day.’

His friends urged him to try and remember. And it was amazing how the

visions kept coming to him.

‘Of course I were a very young baby,’ he told them. ‘But a baby has these

flashes of memory like, I do believe.’

The village was excited. It was rarely there was so much to talk about and it was a relief from the continual discussions of poverty and hardship.

Then one day as his admirers sat in a circle about him he told them that he was in truth the son of King Edward the First and therefore their King.

He was beginning to remember. One night while he was sleeping in his

magnificent cradle, men came and carried him away. He was too young to know what was happening to him and his first memories after that were of the tanner’s cottage. It was perfectly dear. The man who called himself Edward the Second was a changeling. It was clear enough was it not? Look what had happened

when he went to Scotland. Look at the life he had led with the wicked Gaveston.

Was that what could be expected from the son of Edward the First? Everything he did pointed to the fact that he was not his father’s son.

He looked very like him, pointed out some.

‘He is tall and fair-haired. There are many men tall and fair-haired. What of me then? Do I not look the spitting image of him?’

They had to admit this was so.

‘What will ‘ee do about it, John?’ asked the miller.

‘I reckon I ought to do some’at,’ said John.

‘You should go around the country, telling people you be the true King.’

‘Yes, maybe that’s what I should do.’

John of Powderham was a little apprehensive. It was all very well to

proclaim himself the true King in his own village. Going round the country telling others was a different matter.

But his friends were determined.

They had to put a stop to the present state of affairs as soon as possible.

They wanted a real King to rule them and to see John Drydas, standing his full height with his yellow hair thrown back and his long shapely legs― Well, if that wasn’t the dead image of Great King Edward they didn’t know what was.

–――――――

The Queen said: ‘This after the changeling story is too much. Every tall fair-haired man in the country will be setting himself up as the King. You have to make an example of this one, Edward.’

Edward agreed with her. He had talked over the matter with Hugh who had

actually seen the man.

‘He is handsome enough,’ was Hugh’s comment. ‘Tall and fair. And he

certainly has a look of the late King and yourself. But what a difference! The poor creature has no grace, no charm. He is an uncouth yokel.’

‘What do you expect him to be?’ demanded Isabella tartly, ‘brought up by a tanner! I doubt you, my lord, would be as charming and graceful if you had been brought up in a hovel instead of the ancestral home of the Despensers.’

Hugh tittered sycophantically. They were beginning to hate each other. In

due course, thought Hugh, he would not have to placate her. It would be the other way round.

The Queen said: ‘I do believe this man should not be treated lightly.’

Edward looked at Hugh. Oh God, prayed Isabella, let me keep my temper.

This is going to be darling Perrot all over again.

Hugh was not completely sure of his position, so he said quickly: ‘There is much in what you say, my lady.’

‘Poor fellow,’ said Edward, ‘I doubt he means any harm.’

‘He is only helping to make you more unpopular than you already are.’

Edward said petulantly: ‘The people are so tiresome. Am I to blame for the weather?’

‘They won’t blame you for the weather,’ said the Queen, ‘but for doing

nothing to combat the effects of it. They don’t realize that Lancaster rules them now― not their King.’

She was not going to argue with them. If the King liked to be lenient with this man, let him. His folly was leading him to disaster fast enough.

She left the two friends together. Now they would put their pretty heads

together and talk of the past. Hugh must be sick to death of hearing of the talents and virtues of Darling Perrot.

But John of Powderham was not allowed to go free. He was arrested and

imprisoned. He was given a chance to bring forward proof which might

substantiate his claims to be the son of the King.

Of course, the poor fellow could do nothing of the sort. But he insisted on his claim. He knew it had happened the way he had said. What more proof did they want than the character of the present King.

He had given his accusers the opportunity they needed.

Poor John Powderham was sentenced to that horror which had become

known as the traitor’s death. He was hung, drawn and quartered.

An example to any of those who might have notions that Edward the Second

was not the true King of England.

–――――――

There were further signs of unrest.

Soon after the affair of John Drydas, a certain Robert Messager was in a

tavern having drunk a little more than his wont when he remarked that it was small wonder things went wrong with the country when the manner of the

King’s way of living was considered.

There was quiet in the tavern while he went on to speak very frankly of the King’s relations with Gaveston and now it seemed there was a new pretty boy favourite. It was a wonder the Queen– God bless her― endured the situation.

Many in the tavern agreed and the more Robert de Messager drank, the more

frankly he discussed the King’s friends.

There was bound to be someone who reported this conversation and the next

night when Messager was in the tavern there was a man there also who plied him with wine and led the conversation to the habits of the King.

Messager, seeing himself the centre of the company and that he had the

interest of all, used what were later called ‘irreverent and indecent words’ about the King.

As he uttered them, the stranger made a sign and guards entered the tavern.

Shortly afterwards Messager found himself a prisoner in a dark little

dungeon in the Tower. Realizing what he had done he became quickly sober

when he was seized by despair and a realization that his own folly had brought him there.

There was a great deal of talk throughout the capital about Robert de

Messager. He was a citizen of London and London looked after its citizens.

Messager had spoken of the King in a London tavern. He had merely said what everyone knew to be true. Perhaps he had been indiscreet. Perhaps he owed the King a small fine. But if he were to be condemned to the traitor’s death there would be trouble.

The Queen as usual was aware of the people’s feelings. When she rode out

they cheered her wildly. It seemed that the more they despised Edward, the more they cherished her. They saw her as the long-suffering Princess who had tried to be a good wife and Queen to their dissolute monarch.

‘Long live Queen Isabella!’

Then she heard a voice in the crowd: ‘Save Messager, lady.’

Save Messager! She would. She would show the people of London that she loved them as they loved her.

She looked in the direction from which the voice had come. There was a

shout again: ‘Save Messager.’

She replied in a clear voice, ‘I will do all I can to save him.’

More cheers. Sweetest music in her ears. One day everything would be

different.

She had some influence with Edward. He did respect her. The fact that she

never upbraided him for his life with Perrot and Hugh won his gratitude. She had given him the children― two boys. What could be better? They must have more, she had said. Two were not enough. He really owed her a good deal for being so considerate. She was prepared to receive him that they might have children, and she loved their two boys– even as he did. There was a bond

between them and he was ready to listen to her.

‘You must pardon Messager,’ she said.

‘Do you know what he said about me?’ asked Edward.

She did know. She did not add that Messager had spoken the truth.

‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘I want you to pardon him. The people have asked me to intercede for him and I think it well for them to believe you have some regard for me.’

‘But they know I have. Have you not borne two of my children?’

‘The Londoners wish him to be pardoned and they have asked me to do

what I can. They want him pardoned, Edward.’

‘But to speak of his King thus―’

‘Edward, it is better for you to waive that aside. The people will gossip less if you do. It is not often I ask you for anything. But now I ask you for this man’s life.’

Edward rarely felt fully at ease with his wife, and the prospect of her

begging for this favour and that it should be for the life of a man appealed to his sense of the romantic.

Let the man go. Show the people that he cared not for their calumnies and

make a pretty gesture to his Queen.

When Robert de Messager was released the crowds gathered to cheer him.

He had struck a blow for freedom. He had come near to horrible death and thank God– and the Queen– that he had escaped.

‘God save the Queen,’ shouted the people of London. She rode out among

them.

‘How beautiful she is!’ cried the people.

‘Shame on the King,’ said some. ‘Such a good and lovely Queen and he

turns to his boys!’

And she smiled and acknowledged their loyal greetings. They loved her.

They were on her side. One day she would have need of them.

–――――――

Another unfortunate incident occurred soon after that.

It was Whitsuntide and the Court was at Westminster and the celebrations

took place in public according to the custom.

At such times the doors of the palace were wide open and it was the people’s privilege to come in if they wanted to see the royal family at table.

At such a time as this, with famine throughout the country, it was asking for trouble to allow the poor to see how well stocked the royal table was. There had, it was true, been certain shortages in the kitchens, even of the most wealthy, but to the poor the joints of beef and the golden piecrust looked very inviting.

The King and Queen sat side by side at the great table and the King was

beginning to realize that if the Queen was beside him― as a queen should be—

the people were more inclined to look with favour on him.

However, while they sat at table there was a commotion from without and

then suddenly there appeared at the door a tall woman on a magnificent horse.

The woman’s face was completely covered by a mask so that it was impossible to see who she was.

She rode into the hall and brought her horse right up to the table where the King was seated. Then she handed a letter to him.

Edward was smiling, so was the Queen.

‘A charming gesture from one of my loyal subjects,’ said Edward. ‘I wonder what the letter contains?’

He gave it to one of his squires and commanded that it be read aloud so that the whole company could hear.

He was expecting some panegyric such as monarchs were accustomed to

receiving on such occasions when, to his amazement, this squire began to read out a list of complaints against the King and the manner in which the country was ruled.

‘Bring back that woman,’ he said, for the masked rider was already at the

door.

She was captured and immediately gave the name of the knight who had

paid her to deliver the letter to the King.

The knight was brought before the King who demanded to know how he

dared behave in such a manner.

The knight fell on his knees. ‘I wish to warn you, my lord. I am as good and loyal a subject as you ever had. But the people are murmuring against you and I believe you should know it. I meant the letter to have been read by you in private. I was ready to risk my life to tell you.’

A deep silence fell on the hall. Edward was uncertain. The Queen spoke to

him softly.

‘You must let him go as you did Messager. To punish him would arouse the

fury of the Londoners.’

Edward saw the point. He had no wish for trouble from his capital.

‘You may go,’ he said to the knight. ‘I like not your conduct but I know it was done out of no ill wish to me. Another time speak to me yourself. You need have no fear of that. Let the woman go too. The matter is over.’

It was the only way to deal with such a situation.

But it showed the mood of the people.