Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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‘My lord, what can I say?’

‘You can say you believe now that your King loves you. Come my lord earl,

let us discover what manors, castles and lands are attached to your new title.’

Gaveston felt giddy with power. He was realizing that there need be no end to his good fortune. Edward was so besottedly in love with him that there was nothing he could not have. He could be King– for Edward would do anything

to please him. The old barons would not like it. He would have to watch them.

Old fools most of them; they would have to learn that Gaveston could outwit them– with the King beside him. Edward would be called the King, but it

would be Gaveston who would rule.

They had always resented him in the royal household― those scions of

noble families. They had sneered at his low birth. He was the son of a Gascon knight whereas many them considered themselves as royal as the King. Some of them had in fact been royal. He had always felt a certain rapport with Edward’s sister Joanna– alas now dead. She had had an adventurous spirit and an eye for an attractive man. Not that Gaveston was her kind, but she appreciated his cleverness She herself had married Ralph Monthermer– one of the handsomest men at court and of humble birth– in spite the King’s wrath which she had had to face afterwards. So she could not very well despise his low birth. Nor to do her justice had she shown that she was aware of it. She had been a good

companion until her sudden death– by far the most friendly towards him of any member of the royal family.

Now he was to be Earl of Cornwall. He was equal with any of them.

‘And, Perrot,’ went on the King, ‘as I am to have a bride so shall you.’

‘A bride, Edward. You are jesting.’

‘Oh no, sweet friend. Indeed I am not. Only the most noble bride is good

enough for my Perrot so whom do you think have chosen for you?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Joanna’s girl– Margaret de Clare.’ Edward stood back a little to see the

effect on his friend. Gaveston found it hard to hide the upsurge of delight. The girl was one of the richest in the country– and with strong royal connections too, since she was the King’s niece. This was indeed favour.

‘Well,’ went Edward, ‘what say you, Perrot?’

‘I would say that you are determined to honour me, sweet lord. I have no

wish to take a wife but who could say no to being connected to his royal lord through marriage.’

‘She is young and you need see little of her. But she will bring you much

wealth. I said to myself: Hugh le Despenser has her sister Eleanor, so my Perrot shall have Margaret. I long to tell the child of her good fortune.’

‘Let us hope she will consider it such.’

‘How could she fail to admire you? And if she is a dutiful niece she will

love one whom her lord uncle and King cherishes.’

Gaveston was still stunned. He had expected favour but not quite as strong as this. Edward was certainly impulsive. There was no doubt that the barons would soon be made aware of his intentions, and there would be stern criticism.

‘We must make immediate plans for your marriage,’ went on the King. ‘I

want it performed without delay, before our enemies can raise their objections.’

‘My clever friend thinks of everything.’

‘Where your welfare is concerned, Perrot, indeed I do.’

It was such pleasure to be together. They laughed immoderately at the effect his announcement was going to have on the ponderous barons..

Perrot amused himself by giving them nicknames. Thomas Lancaster, for

whom he had the utmost contempt, was the Fiddler.

‘He should have been a fiddler,’ commented Gaveston. ‘Yes, he would have

done very well fiddling his tunes. He could have played at country fairs. The rustics would have loved him.’

‘Perrot, you are talking of my cousin.’

‘It was a joke of the Almighty mayhap. Or perhaps He was saving up all

perfections for the King’s son and so had none to spare for others. The one we have most to fear is the black hound of Arden. You know who I mean.’

‘I’ll guess Warwick.’

Gaveston nodded. ‘And as for old Burst Belly he counts not at all.’

‘You mean Lincoln. Oh, Perrot, you will kill me with laughing! Yes, if he

gets much bigger he will certainly burst.’

It did him good to hear these mighty barons ridiculed. He could be afraid of the Earls of Lancaster and Lincoln– but not when he thought of them as Fiddler and Burst Belly.

‘I will tell you this, Edward,’ went on Gaveston, ‘these men are not one

twentieth as valiant or as significant as they believe themselves to be. And we shall prove this to them.’

‘How?’ asked Edward.

‘We will begin by giving a tournament. I’ll gather together the best knights of France and England. All young― unknown. I can bring them here. Then we

shall see these mighty brought low. How is that for a start?’

‘A tournament. I shall enjoy that. And you will be the finest of them all.’

‘Bless you, sweet friend. It is an honour I shall share with you.’

They laughed together, making plans. Everything, thought Edward, becomes interesting and amusing when Perrot is here.

–――――――

On a cold October day the funeral of the King took place and his body was

laid in the tomb prepared for him in Westminster Abbey. In the streets the people talked of his greatness but they were already thinking of the new reign.

Young Edward’s flaxen good looks so like his father’s endeared him to them but they were hearing whispers of the favorite Gaveston― against whom the barons were murmuring― and the first breath of uneasiness was beginning to touch

them. There had never been scandal about the dead King; he had been an

example to all fathers and husbands and as such had had a good effect on the country.

‘The new King is young, said the women, ‘and very good-looking. He is

going to have a wife soon. Then he will settle down.’

The men said that the country’s troubles always sprang from foreigners, and Gaveston was a Gascon. Let the King send that creature packing as his father had done and all would be well.

But it was early days yet and the King’s popularly waned very little because of the first touch of scandal.

A few days later when Piers Gaveston was married to the King’s niece

Margaret de Clare the uneasiness increased. The barons were very sullen,

disapproving strongly of this marriage. The King though had said it should be, and one hopeful factor was that as Gaveston had a wife there might stop to the gossip about him and the King.

Young Margaret, who was only a child, thought her bridegroom the prettiest creature she had ever seen, so she was not at all displeased with her marriage and he spent so little time with her that she said it was scarcely like being married at all.

Perrot lay stretched out on the King’s bed and Edward watched him with

admiration. He was as graceful as a cat and as dignified as a king should be but was not always.

Gaveston was pleased with himself. He was at last becoming the most

important man in the kingdom, for whatever he wanted, he must have― his

wish was Edward’s.

They had been talking about Walter Langton whom they both referred to as

that old enemy.

‘It seems to me an odd thing,’ Gaveston was saying, ‘that our old enemy

holds his office of treasurer.’

‘Not for long, Perrot. No, not for long.’

‘Methinks he has held it long enough. ‘Tis my belief, and one which I know my dearest liege lord shares, that those who have been good friends to us― to you, dear boy― should be rewarded and those who have been our enemies

made to understand that their fortunes have taken a turn for the worse.’

‘I have been considering Langton,’ said Edward.

‘Then let us consider him now and let us not stop considering him until he is no longer in a position to annoy us.’

‘Turn him out,’ said Edward.

‘Precisely,’ replied Gaveston

They laughed, recalling their skirmishes with Langton who had,

unfortunately at the time, been in favour with Edward I.

‘Do you remember the time we broke into his wood?’ prompted Gaveston.

Edward did remember. There had been a great deal of trouble about that, and he recalled vividly his rage at the humiliation which been heaped on him at the time, for his father had been on the side of Langton over the affair.

It was characteristic that this man Langton whom young Edward had so

hated should be favoured by his father. The old King had had such a high

opinion of Walter Langton, and Lichfield, that he had made him his treasurer.

He would listen to his advice and often took it for he declared that the Bishop’s long experience was of great service to him.

Prompted by Gaveston, Edward had chosen Langton as a butt for his dislike.

As treasurer Langton was always questioning young Edward’s expenditure, nor was he averse to complaining to his father about it. It was galling that the old King took the treasurer’s side rather than that of his son and complained

Gaveston, treated the Prince as an erring schoolboy in the presence of the Bishop which made that old hypocrite more determined than ever to spoil his pleasures.

It was Gaveston who pointed out that Reynolds could be of use to them.

‘That other Walter,’ as Gaveston called him. As treasurer of the wardrobe

Walter Reynolds could contrive a little juggling over clothes which he was very willing to do. Indeed, Reynolds was very happy to put his scheming head

together with that of Edward and his minion and laugh over ways of deceiving the King and Langton.

It was only natural that when Edward and Gaveston were riding near Walter

Langton’s lands they should break into a wood of his and hunt the deer. They had not been without success and had just brought down a fine buck when

Langton’s gamekeepers had come upon them, surrounded them and in spite of

Edward’s protests that he was the Prince of Wales, had taken them, in a most humiliating fashion, to their master as though they were common poachers.

Moreover, even when he saw who the captives were, Langton had shown an

equal lack of respect.

‘How dare you trespass on my land and steal my deer?’ he had demanded.

Edward had replied haughtily, ‘These lands come to you through my

father’s grace. I am his heir and therefore claim the right to go where I will.’

Gaveston had nodded approvingly which gave Edward the courage he

needed to stand up to the formidable old Bishop

‘You have not stepped into your father’s shoes yet!’ cried the Bishop, ‘and I pray God the time will be long before you do. Let us hope that when that time comes– and it could be a tragedy for the nation– you will have learned more sense.’

Now this had been more than Edward could endure and he began abusing

Langton in somewhat coarse terms which seemed more amusing because they

were addressed to a bishop and Gaveston had been looking on, convulsed with laughter.

‘I can tell you this,’ the Bishop had replied, ‘the King will not endure your frivolous behaviour, your extravagant dalliance with companions who are no good to you―’

Gaveston had smirked and mincing up to the Bishop had struck a mock

pleading attitude which made Edward gasp with laughter.

The Bishop had turned a shade paler as he had said, ‘I shall report this

matter to the King.’

‘Pray do,’ Edward had replied, ‘and I shall report him the insolence of a

subject towards the King’s son.’

Langton had arrived first before the King. He had distraught and sorrowful and the King had been furious when he heard what had happened.

He sent for his son and the lights of the dangerous Plantagenet temper had been visible in his eyes. Young Edward was the one person who aroused that more than any other. The King’s voice could be heard through the palace and the things he said were very uncomplimentary to his son.

‘How dare you go into the Bishop’s woods? How dare you hunt his deer?

It’s a punishable offence. You know that.’

‘A King should hunt where he wishes,’ Edward had replied.

‘Remember this,’ thundered his father, ‘you are not yet a king. And I tell you there is considerable unease in this realm at the prospect of your becoming one. You will have to mend your ways or by God and all his angels, I will mend them for you.’

‘My lord, it is demeaning to our state―’

‘ It is demeaning. You are demeaning. You and your evil counsellors.’

Little darts of fear had entered Edward’s heart then. He had always been

afraid when the King’s thoughts turned to Gaveston.

He had become quieter, more humble. He had listened to his father’s tirade when he was told that he was banished from court, he had bowed his head and accepted the exile. It had been irritating, but it would be simply dreadful if his father began blaming Perrot and decided to part them.

He guessed that when his father did banish Gaveston– a few months before

his death– that this affair had first put the idea to do so in his head.

So now Perrot reminded him of the time they had broken into Langston’s

wood he remembered not only the incident but the parting with Perrot which had followed and a great anger rose in him against Langton who had been one of their worst enemies.

‘And he remains your treasurer,’ pointed out Gaveston. ‘Dear friend, you are too good to that old rogue.’

‘Someone will have to replace him.’

‘But indeed it is so and there is our old friend, that other Walter. He is just waiting for his chance, and sweet Prince, why should he not have it?’

‘Reynolds!’ cried the King.

‘Who else? Has he not served us― you― well?’

‘You are right. It shall be. Who shall we send for first?’

‘Let’s have our Sport with the Bishop.’

Edward slapped his thigh with excitement. How different from when they

had been taken to his presence like humble foresters. Now it was his turn.

‘Let’s tell Reynolds,’ said Gaveston. ‘We’ll hide him in the chamber and he can hear the great man receive his dismissal.’

‘You always think of the most amusing things, Perrot.’

‘It is my duty to amuse my lord. Sometimes I think my role is that of court jester.’

‘There never was a more handsome, witty and charming one― nor such a

rich one.’

‘There’s truth in that, I’ll swear. Now to the fun.’

–――――――

The Bishop received his dismissal with dignity. It was clear though that he would soon join up with Lancaster and Lincoln, Warwick and such malcontents who were already raising their eyebrows at the King’s preoccupation with

Gaveston even though Gaveston had been recently married. He was rarely with his wife and that marriage had obviously been a means of bringing him a

fortune.

‘I will be magnanimous, my lord,’ said the Bishop as he departing, ‘and ask God to help you.’

‘But, my dear Bishop,’ said Gaveston, ‘it is you who will need His help and I am sure that, seeing the pious life you have led, He will not deny it now.’

The Bishop ignored Gaveston. Poor Perrot, that angered him more than

anything. He could not bear to be treated though he were of no importance.

Walter Reynolds came in, rubbing his hands together.

‘My lords, my lords, it was as good as one of our plays. You showed him the door, indeed you did. I’ll warrant the old prelate is trembling in his shoes.’

‘Methinks he was expecting it, Walter,’ said Perrot. ‘He could not hope to go on in office after all he has done to our gracious King.’

‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘what would you say if I set you in the old

rogue’s shoes and made you my treasurer?’

Walter’s answer was to go down on his knees and kiss the King’s hand.

‘Walter,’ said Edward. ‘You deserve your honour. Serve me well and there

will be more. I remember my friends.’

‘And must not forget your enemies, dear Prince,’ said Gaveston.

‘Nor shall I. It was good fun, was it not― seeing the old fellow brought

low?’

‘Now we shall cease to be plagued and must think of others who have

offended you.’

‘And of those who have been my friends. I intend they shall never regret it.’

‘This is a great day for those who long to serve you well, my lord. I shall let it be known that good and loyal friends had cause for happiness this day. Even our little drummer Francekin shall have a pair of kettle drums.’

‘That pleases me,’ said Gaveston. ‘Francekin is a good little nakerer and

pretty withal.’

They were happy together making plans for the future.

–――――――

The tournament had been planned to take place in the old town of

Walingford which was situated in the Thames valley between Reading and

Oxford. Gaveston had arranged it and to it he invited all the knights renowned for their chivalry.

Gaveston was smarting a little from the treatment he had received at the

hands of some of the leading barons of the country― men such as Lancaster, Lincoln, Warwick, Surrey, Arundel and Hereford. They had their followers too, and they all showed clearly how much they deplored his friendship with the King. Moreover they were constantly stressing the lowness of his birth– a very sore point with Gaveston who considered himself their superior in every other way. They were never going to let him forget that he was the son of a humble Gascon knight while they belonged to the greatest families in the country. Many of them were royal or connected with royalty and they believed that the King should take his counsellors from their ranks instead of surrounding himself with minions of low birth.

Gaveston planned to teach them a lesson. He was going to show them that

he could outshine them all in that display of chivalry which was considered to be at the very heart of good breeding. He was not only graceful on horseback but there were few who could handle a horse better. Edward said that when he watched Perrot on horseback he could believe he was some mythical creature, half-horse half-man, so well did he and the horse move together.

The days which preceded the tournament were full of excitement. Edward

and Gaveston laughed together at the trick they were going to play on the

arrogant barons. They were bringing into the country many young men from

France who had not yet made their names but whose skill and vitality could, Gaveston was sure, outwit and overcome the proud barons at every turn. Perrot would lead them and the King would be seated under his canopy to watch the play and to present the trophies.

It was going to be a most exciting occasion.

On the appointed day people came from miles to see the contests. The roads were full of travellers with the usual company of beggars and pickpockets in their wake. Pennants fluttered from those pavilions in which knights donned their armour and waited to be called to the fight. They were beautiful, those pavilions, many made of double satin, the valences embroidered with their

owner’s motto. The Royal Pavilioners and Sergeants of the Tents were busy all through the day preceding the tournament, setting them up and making sure they were not damaged. Merchants of London and the big cities vied with each other to obtain contracts for making and maintaining these pavilions. And a colourful sight they were.

When the King appeared there was a great shout of greeting from the

people, for there was nothing they loved more than displays of this sort and the rumour had already been circulated that the King was at some variance with certain members of his court who did not like his friend Gaveston. They knew of course that the late King had banished the Gascon and that the new King had recalled him and given him, as well as a rich and royal bride, great honours.

The feeling had seeped out that the tournament in some way a contest

between the King, who had his own idea of what a King’s duties should be, and those barons who wanted to impose their will on him.

As yet the outcome of this struggle seemed of little importance to the

people. What they wanted to see was an exciting tournament and when the

combatants emerged they would pick their favourites.

The King had taken his seat beneath the royal canopy and among his party

was Margaret de Clare, his niece, the newly-married wife of Gaveston. As soon as the knights appeared in their splendid armour, her eyes sought her husband among them and as she recognized him, they shone with a pride which was

matched by the King’s own obvious love for his friend.

Gaveston was chafing against the fact that he had been designated as one of the challengers, believing that he should have been greeted as a champion. Well, he was here to show these arrogant knights what he thought of them. He and his group of challengers were determined to inflict such defeat on them as would never forget.

His friends understood what was expected of them. They were young, vital

and spoiling for the fight. Although the leading champions were here, some of them were not in the first flush of their youth, their limbs might well be stiffening a little and it was speed and agility which were needed in the fight―

not arrogance and strains of royal blood.

It was a brilliant show. Edward knew that his Perrot was going to succeed.

There was an air of confidence about him and for days he had been complaining bitterly of the treatment he received from many scions of ancient houses.

They were going to be taught a lesson and Edward was longing to see it

administered.

Edward made it clear that the tournament had been devised by the Earl of

Cornwall (he and Gaveston had decided was the title by which he must be

referred to from now on) for their pleasure and that it was a joust à Plaisance―

which meant that it was purely for sport and that each lance would be fitted with its coronel– an iron head roughly shaped and with several blunt points which would prevent harm coming to the combatants. This was different from a joust à l’Outrance which meant that the contenders fought until one was forced to surrender and would surely be wounded― often severely– or even killed, for such jousts as these were fought with a sharp lance or spear.

Gaveston distinguished herself with great éclat. In a very short time he was tackling one of his greatest enemies the leader of the Champions, John Warenne, Earl of Surrey and Sussex. With great panache and with a certain malicious delight, he went into the fight. He had challenged Warenne because he knew that he was one of those who deplored the King’s friendship with him and had not hesitated to make his feelings known.

Warenne was a handsome young man just about twenty years of age. His

father had died when he was six months old and he had not long before

succeeded to his titles on the death of his grandfather. During the preceding year he had been married to the King’s niece, Joanna, the daughter of Edward’s

eldest sister Eleanor and the Count of Bar, so he considered himself a member of the royal family through marriage. He was a proud young man and pleased to be connected with the King and on more than one occasion he had done his best to humiliate Gaveston.

He was noted for his skill in the joust and had become acknowledged

champion of that art, and there could be no doubt that he was delighting in the opportunity offered him of humiliating the King’s dear friend. Gaveston was, of course, determined that it should be the other way round.

There were many who were aware during those tense moments that this was

something more than a joust à Plaisance. The feeling that a great deal was at stake had permeated atmosphere and the tension was growing.

As the two men rode into the field and came at each other with their blunted lances the King leaned forward in his seat.

‘Go to it, Perrot,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Make Warenne grovel in the

dust.’

They tilted, each highly skilled. Everyone knew that Warenne was a

champion so it was Gaveston who surprised them the most. All the skill of the champion was his. That much was clear. The thunder of hoofs as they galloped towards at each other; the clash of steel as they met and then suddenly a cry went up. One of them was down.

The thundering of Edward’s heart matched that of the horse’s hoofs. A mist swam before his eyes so that he was not sure which was which.

‘Oh God, yes it is― it is―’ he murmured. ‘Warenne is down.’

What a moment of humiliation! What a moment of glory!

Warenne would never forget nor forgive this moment.

Defeated, he a champion, beaten by an upstart Gascon knight who owed his

title to the King’s favour for questionable services performed.

Even Edward could not help feeling a little sorry for Warenne in that

moment.

He had returned crestfallen to his pavilion, the roars of the crowd in his ears, hatred for Gaveston in his heart.

And then Arudnel.

Gaveston’s friends were warning him. ‘You cannot hope for your luck to

continue,’ they said. ‘Leave Arundel to one of us.’

But Gaveston was drunk with success. He was supreme. He was sure of it.

He had staged this tournament that he might show these people that he was

superior to them in every way and he was going to prove it. This was his

triumph.

He knew that fortune was smiling on him that day. He was aware of the

King’s burning gaze. He felt as though he had been born for this day. From henceforth these men who had set themselves against him should acknowledge their superior. The tournament was a symbol and they knew it.

And so to Arundel– Edmund Fitzalan who had recently married Warenne’s

sister Alice. They were a close community, these noble lords. Arundel had

behaved arrogantly to Gaveston. He was another one of those who resented the friendship with the King.

Ambition rode with Gaveston. Every bit of skill he had taken such pains to acquire must do him good service.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. He looked towards the canopy.

Gaveston knew his dear friend was watching, praying, hoping―

Arundel was down. A silence, then the uproar.

Gaveston, no― the Earl of Cornwall― had proved himself to be the

champion of champions.

Two of the greatest jousters of the times and both defeated! This was

triumph indeed.

‘You have done it,’ said Walter Reynolds. ‘Rest on your laurels, Perrot. You have brought these two down.’

But Gaveston shook his head. ‘No, it shall be Hereford too. I’ll not rest until I have defeated the three of them.’

‘My dear lord, you tempt the fates.’

‘I have done that all my life, Walter. And today the fates are with me.’

There was no dissuading him and soon he was riding out to meet Hereford,

proud Humphrey de Bohun, Constable of England, and another of those who

considered himself part-royal because he was married to a sister of the King’s.

He was considered to be a great champion at the joust and his wife Elizabeth was seated under the royal canopy with her brother, the King.

Elizabeth would be praying for her husband; but the King’s thoughts, of

course, would be all for his beloved Gaveston.

Gaveston felt like a legendary hero on that day. He knew he could not be

beaten. Fortune was smiling on him. He, the son of a humble Gascon knight, was becoming the most important man in the realm.

Even as Hereford rode towards him, he knew.

And incredibly it happened. The mighty Earl, the champion jouster, was

lying in the dust and the new champion Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, was riding round the field to come to rest before the King.

Edward could not hide his joy and pride. There were tears in his eyes.

‘My champion of champions!’ he murmured.

So the day ended in a resounding victory for Gaveston, a humiliating defeat for his enemies. The crowds were shouting Gaveston’s name and vying with

each other to wear his colours.

Gaveston asked the King if his lord was pleased with the little entertainment he had devised for his amusement.

‘Dear Perrot,’ replied the King, I am more than delighted. But I see some

black looks around here. Do you?’

They laughed together– intimate laughter, implying shared secrets.

‘My dear lord,’ said Gaveston’s young wife, ‘you were wonderful. There

can never have been such a noble knight.’

‘Is that so?’ said Gaveston. He glanced at her briefly then turned to the

King.

‘Magnificent Perrot,’ cried Edward, ‘I will come with you to your pavilion. I want to tell you of my special appreciation.’

Margaret was about to follow them when her husband turned to look at her.

There was that in his eyes which commanded her to stay where she was. She

stood, disconsolate, looking after the King and her husband as they made their way to the most brilliantly luxurious of all the pavilions.

‘My lady,’ whispered Walter Reynolds who was standing by and had seen

what had happened, ‘you cannot hope to come between such friends.’

Margaret looked as though she were about to burst into tears.

‘My lady is but a child,’ murmured Walter Reynolds.

The Earl of Warwick asked Margaret if he might escort her

‘It will be a pleasure to do so, dear lady, since your husband is engaged with the King.’

Gaveston looked round and saw Warwick with his wife. His voice, always

resonant and clear, came to them as they stood there.

‘Look Edward. The mad hound is taking charge of my wife.’

Their laughter floated back to the group.

Warwick had flushed scarlet. He knew that people, instigated by Gaveston,

called him the Mad Hound behind his back and it was true that he had an

unfortunate habit of spitting as he spoke, which Gaveston called foaming at the mouth.

‘He may call me the mad Hound,’ muttered Warwick. ‘One day that mad

hound will seize him and destroy him.’

–――――――

How they rejoiced. How they laughed. Walter Reynolds said they must have

a special play to celebrate the occasion. The arrogant nobility had been bitterly humiliated.

‘They say,’ commented Gaveston, ‘that Hereford, Arundel and Surrey will

never get over it.’

‘I hope they will not try to take their revenge,’ commented Edward uneasily.

‘I would challenge them again tomorrow,’ boasted Gaveston.

‘Oh, but I did not mean at the joust. I fear they will put their heads together and talk against us.’

‘Men will always stander those of whom they are envious.’

‘Why they be envious? They are rich men and have all they want.’

‘They do not have your love, my lord, as I have it.’

‘They should know that is for one alone.’

‘We should be watchful, my lords,’ said Reynolds. ‘They are in conference

with your cousin Lancaster and Warwick.’

‘I’ll warrant the mad hound is foaming at the mouth,’ cried Gaveston.

‘And that Lincoln strokes his fat belly and is taking a little more food and wine to comfort him.’