Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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The Queen said: ‘It would only distress him, Edward. It is kinder to let him be where he is. I hear that he is contented enough. More, he is happy to be relieved of the duties of kingship which have been too much for him.’

‘Yet he ruled for many years,’ said Edward.

‘And see to what state the country has come!’ replied the Queen. ‘Edward,

you must remember you are young. For a little while you must listen to advice.’

‘It is well that you should be crowned with as little delay as possible,’ added the Archbishop.

Edward looked into their faces. He felt the blood rising to his. ‘I would

agree on one condition,’ he said.

‘Condition, Edward!’ cried the Queen. ‘Do you realize what honour is being done to you?’

‘I realize fully what this means, my lady,’ replied Edward firmly, ‘but I will not be crowned King of this realm until I have my father’s word that he gives me the crown.’

There was consternation. The boy had shown firmness of purpose which

they had not expected. He stood straight, drawing himself to his full height which was considerable even though he had not yet finished growing; his blue eyes were alight with purpose, the wintry light shone on his flaxen hair. It might have been his grandfather who stood there.

Every one of them knew that it would be useless to attempt to coerce him.

He was going to do what he believed to be right.

They saw that they would have to get the old King’s permission to crown

the new one before they could do so.

The January winds were buffeting the walls of Kenilworth Castle. Outside

the frost glittered on the bare branches of the trees. It was a break prospect but not so bleak as the feelings of the King as he sat huddled in his chamber in Caesar’s Tower in a vain endeavour to keep warm.

He had heard the ciatter of arrivals in the courtyard below. He wondered

what this meant. Every time someone called at the castle he feared the arrival might concern him and even these miserable conditions be changed for worse.

This was an important visit.

Lancaster stood in the doorway. ‘Your presence is required below, my lord.’

‘Who is it, cousin?’

‘A deputation. They are in serious mood. The Bishop of Hereford leads

them.’

‘Adam of Orlton,’ cried the King. ‘This bodes me no good then. He was

always my enemy. Who comes with him?’

‘Among others Sir William Trussell.’

‘Ay, an assembly of my enemies, I see. Tell me, do the greatest of them all come to Kenilworth to see me?’

Lancaster was silent and the King went on. ‘You wonder who I mean?

Come, cousin. You know full well. I mean the Queen and Mortimer.’

‘They are not here, my lord.’

‘Why do these men come, cousin? You know.’

‘They have not told me their business, my iord. Come, dress now. They are

waiting.’

‘And the King must not keep his enemies waiting,’ retorted Edward bitterly.

‘Give me my robe, cousin.’

He threw off the fur in which he had wrapped himselfand put on a gown of

cheap black serge– the sort poor men wore in mourning, for he was mourning he knew for a lost crown.

He faced the party– the traitors who no longer showed him the homage due

to a King. Leading them were two of his most bitter enemies Adam of Orlton and William Trussell. How he hated Trussell, who had sentenced Hugh to the terrible death which had been so barbarously carried out!

Trussell’s eyes– like those of Adam of Orlton– were gleaming with

triumph. This was a moment for which they had been working in their devious ways for many years.

They did not bow to him. They regarded him as they might a low-born

criminal.

Then Adam began speaking; he listed the crimes of the King. Events long

forgotten were recalled and the blame for them laid at his door. Bannockburn―

Would they never forget Bannockburn? How many had been blamed for that!

He lowered his eyes. He did not want to look into those vicious faces. He

wondered what they planned to do with him. Not what they had done to Hugh―

beioved Hugh. They could not. They dared not. He was still their King.

Their faces seemed to recede and he thought Gaveston was beside him―

Gaveston― perhaps the best boved of them all. Gaveston

Lancaster had caught him in his arms. He heard his voice from a long way

off. ‘The King has fainted.’

He was coming back to reality. The same chamber― the same faces about

him. So it could only have been for a moment.

They brought a chair for him. He was so tired. He did not want to listen to them.

Vaguely he gathered that they were telling him that he was to be set aside, his crown taken from him, and that they wanted his consent to do so.

How kind of them, he thought. They wanted his consent! Why? Could they

not do with him what they liked? Cut off his head― Take him out and do to him what they did to Hugh― No, he could not bear to think of what they did to

Hugh. It haunted his nightmares. Hugh― beautiful Hugh.

‘It would be well for you to give your consent,’ Adam of Orlton was saying.

‘If you do not, who knows what might happen? It could mean that the crown

would be lost not only to you but to your family.’

‘My son,’ he whispered. ‘My son Edward―’

‘Would be crowned King at once, if you consented to abdicate.’

‘He is but a boy―’

‘There must be no delay.’

‘My son― he must be your King.’

‘So thought we,’ went on Adam. ‘Renounce your crown and he shall receive

it forthwith. Refuse this and who knows what will happen.’

He gripped the sides of his chair. He thought of fair-haired Edward, the boy of whom he had been so proud.

He cried out: ‘I am in your hands. You must do what seems right to you.’

The relief was intense. Sir William Trussell lost no time. He stood before the King to declare as he said on behalf of the whole realm that all the homage and allegiance owed to him as sovereign was now renounced.

Trussell then took the staff of office and broke it in two as a symbol of the dissolution of the royal household.

Edward Plantagenet was now a private person; his rights as King of England had been stripped from him. He felt humiliated and yet he knew that his own actions had brought him to this pass. He was glad his father was not there to see this day.

His voice shook with emotion as he said: ‘I know that it is due to my sins that I am brought to this pass and it is a great grief to me that I have incurred the displeasure of the people.’

His eyes were bright in his ashen face and his voice sounded firmer as he

added: ‘But I rejoice that my son Edward is to be their King.’

Neither Adam of Orlton nor Sir William Trussell made any attempt to bow.

He no longer represented the crown; he was an ordinary knight. They owed him no especial respect.

They left him and he sat on a stool and covered his face with his hands.

Lancaster found him thus, and he was moved to pity at the sight of him.

‘Let me help you to your chamber, cousin,’ he said gently. ‘This has been a sad ordeal for you.’

‘Henry,’ Edward replied, ‘I am no longer your King.’

‘I know it,’ answered Lancaster.

‘He broke the staff before my eyes and in such a way, cousin, that I knew to him it was a pleasure.’

‘Rest a while. I will have food and wine sent to you.’

Edward said: ‘My son is King now. Young Edward― He is young yet―

only a boy.’

‘Yet old enough to force his will, cousin. He would not take the crown until he had your consent to do so.’

A smile touched Edward’s ravaged face. ‘Is that so then?’ he asked.

‘‘Tis true. He said he must first have your consent and would have none of it without.’

‘Then someone still cares a little for me.’

Edward once more covered his face with his hands. He could see the young

boy– tall, so fair, his blue eyes flashing, his mouth stubborn as he knew it could be. He would have faced his father’s enemies as they tempted him with the crown.

His hands were wet with his tears.

‘May God bless you, son,’ he murmured. ‘May you be happier than your

father.’

Lancaster led him gently to his chamber where he lay on his bed and, though his black thoughts crowded on him like lowering clouds, there was among them a bright streak of hopefulness.

‘My son, my son,’ he murmured. ‘You care a little for me.’

ESCAPE

THE Winter was passing. Young Edward had been crowned at the end of

January by the Archbishop of Canterbury, that Walter Reynolds who had once been a crony of the new King’s father and who had now joined those who were against him. Walter Reynolds had always been a man who was ready to join the side where he could find the better advantage.

The Queen was in good spirits. She might not be Regent but saw to it that

she and Mortimer had great influence with the young King.

Sir John of Hainault had returned with his troops to his native land, for they had become restive after being away from home for so long. As for Sir John who had been of inestimable help to her she gave him a pension of four hundred marks a year which he was loath to accept declaring that all he had done had been for love of her.

She was at the height of her power and her beauty, for this had flourished since she had thrown aside the cloak of docility. She often laughed to herself to contemplate how everyone knew of her liaison with Mortimer and yet none

raised a voice against it.

Often they talked of this but as the winter passed uneasy thoughts came to her. She discussed these often with Mortimer who attempted to soothe her.

Mortimer was taking every advantage of his position. His success had been even beyond his dreams. All his estates had been returned to him together with those of his uncle who had died in the Tower. Honours had been secured for his

family and he himselfhad been given the title of Earl of March. He was virtually king of the realm; all he had to do was please his mistress and that was easy, for she was a passionate woman long starved of that satisfaction which they had found so spontaneously together. The young King had to be handled with care and there were signs lately that he was beginning to fidget in his harness. The Queen noticed it but Mortimer refused to believe there was anything to be

alarmed about.

‘He questions everything,’ the Queen insisted.

‘Of course he does. He is very conscious of being King. But he is too young, too unversed in statecraft and the ways of the world. He will be a boy for a year or so yet.’

‘He is not like his father, you know. He is clever. He learns quickly.’

‘My dearest, do not fret about him. We shall know how to handle him when

the time comes.’

‘And his father? I worry about him.’

‘Worry about the prisoner of Kenilworth! He will never rise to power again.’

‘But he lives. What if he should rally men to his side?’

‘Edward? My love, you cannot mean that. He is despised by all men. The

people are delighted with their young King and their new rulers. They are

devoted to you. Have you forgotten how they cheer you when you go into the streets?’

‘The Londoners have always been faithful to me, I know. But can you trust

the people? They are for you one day and against you the next.’

‘They have long been faithful to you.’

‘Because they hated Edward’s friends, and he never made any effort to

please them.’

‘Come, my dearest, let us think of other more pressing matters.’

Mortimer laughed aloud as he held her dose to him. He knew how to divert

her thoughts. She was a woman whose sexual appetites were insatiable and for so long they had been suppressed; now that she had found the mate who was

completely in tune with her he could divert her thoughts with amazing ease. Her ambition was great but slightly less so than her desire for Roger Mortimer. He exulted in it, exploiting to the full the power this gave him.

But although for the time her thoughts could be turned in one direction there were occasions when she thought with increasing apprehension of her prisoner husband.

She began to notice as she rode through the streets that the people were less enthusiastic. She even heard murmurings against the newly created Earl of

March. Roger was too rapacious. She realized there could be danger when she heard the whisper that it was Gaveston and the Despensers all over again, for the King and his lover had been replaced by the Queen and hers. She fancied too that young Edward’s manner was changing towards her. She believed he was

asking those around him questions concerning his father. He was growing up.

Since the coronation he had grown very serious, leaving all his boyish pastimes, studying state papers and acting like a king.

It was all very well for Roger to say that they were in complete control.

They might hold the reins at the moment but their young stead was getting

frisky and at times she felt him trying to jerk himself out of his leading strings.

Then her thoughts would go to the prisoner in Kenilworth.

She determined to talk seriously to Roger. She would not allow him to lure her into a sensuous mood. This matter was vital and she was determined to

make him see it as she did herself. She was a woman, she said, with a woman’s intuition and she smelt danger in the air.

‘Listen to me, my gentle Mortimer. I have heard that Lancaster and the King grow close together. They are cousins, remember, and Lancaster will not forget tbat Edward was once a king. It is said that they spend long hours talking together. Of what do you think they talk?’

‘Of what did Edward talk to his dear friends?’

‘You cannot compare Lancaster with Gaveston and Despenser. Lancaster is

a man of power. He could become like his brother who, you could say, ruled this land at one time. Roger, I want Edward removed from Kenilworth.’

Roger was thoughtful.

‘Yes,’ insisted the Queen. ‘They are together too much. He is not treated as a prisoner. They may well be plotting together. My son will be going to

Scotland soon. It is expected of him. They are going to force him to act as his grandfather did and you know how he hammered the Scots. Lancaster must be

recalled to join Edward’s army and that means that he can no longer be the custodian of the prisoner king. Come, my dear, tell me whose charge my

tiresome husband should be put into.’

Mortimer was thoughtful. Then he put his arm about the Queen and kissed

her lips.

‘As usual you are right,’ he said. ‘We must be watchful. Lancaster is too

close to him. First we will remove him from Kenilworth. Let the King call

Lancaster to confer on the Scottish expedition. I have it. My daughter’s husband Thomas Berkeley shall be the jailer. My daughter’s husband will wish to please me. Edward shall be taken to Berkeley Castle. I can promise you that he will not be treated there as an honoured guest.’

‘As usual, gentle Mortimer, you succeed in calming my fears.’

‘Then,’ said Mortimer, ‘this coming day I shall set this thing in motion. Our prisoner shall be sent to a more rigorous prison where he will find jailers not in the least inclined to be his friends.’

The Queen said: ‘He deserves no kindness. He humiliated me bitterly for

many years. If you but knew―’

‘My love, my love, I know full well. He turned from the most beautiful

woman in the world to his despicable boys. But it is all over now, Isabella.

Sometimes I wonder whether we could have known the fullness of our joy in

each other if we had not had to wait for it.’

She was ready to be soothed, to be made love to.

She exulted in Mortimer.

–――――――

Edward was glad that the winter was over. His cousin had seen that he did

not suffer too much from the cold as he might well have done. In the chamber where they met and played chess there was always a great fire and there were furs for Edward’s bed and others in which to wrap bimself when the wind

whistled about the castle walls.

Lancaster was changing, growing fond of his captive. He was beginning to

ask himsehf whether it had been such a good exchange of rulers after all. Even in Kenilworth there came rumours of Mortimer’s arrogance, of the blatant

manner in which he and the Queen openly lived in adultery. Mortimer was not only the most powerful man in the land, he was fast becoming the richest.

Avarice had been the downfall of both Gaveston and the Despensers. But here was as greedy and grasping a man as had ever gone before.

The more dissatisfied Lancaster grew with the Queen and her paramour the

more sympathetic he became towards his pathetic prisoner.

One May day when he had risen from his bed he found that visitors had

arrived at the castle. He received them immediately for they came from the court. He was quickly informed that the King wished him to prepare to leave Kenilworth and join him in London. His counsel was needed with regard to the Scottish campaign.

Lancaster was surprised. ‘What of my prisoner?’ he asked. ‘Am I to bring

him with me?’

Nay, was the answer. Within the next few days Sir Thomas Berkeley and Sir

John Maltravers would be arriving at the castle. They would take over the Earl of Lancaster’s duties.

Lancaster nodded slowly.

He had known that at some time Edward would be taken out of his charge.

He did not greatly care for the task which lay before him of informing

Edward that they were to part.

He looked with compassion on the tall thin figure– now almost gaunt, with

the dark shadows under the faded blue eyes.

‘Thomas, cousin,’ murmured Edward, ‘they are going to take me away from

you.’

‘It was to be expected,’ said Lancaster. I have my duties. I am to join the King.’

Edward closed his eyes and the lines of despair were obvious about his

mouth. Then he opened them and the stark fear in them deeply disturbed

Lancaster.

‘It is because you have been too kind to me,’ he said fiercely.

‘I am told the King commands me to join him.’

‘And we know who commands the King.’

‘It may be that you will enjoy a change of castles.’

‘Who, cousin?’

‘Berkeley. Thomas Berkeley.’

‘Did he not marry Mortimer’s daughter?’

‘I think that was so.’

‘You see, cousin. I am to be put with my enemies. Berkeley! He was no

friend of mine.’

‘His lands were confiscated,’ said Lancaster. ‘I beleive they were bestowcd on Hugh le Despenser.’

Edward shuddered. ‘No friend of mine,’ he murmured. ‘And they will take

me from here.’

‘To Berkeley Castle, I doubt not.’

‘Oh cousin, do not go. Do not leave me. Let us stay here together. You have made life bearable for me here.’

‘My dear lord, I must obey the King.’

‘I am your King, Thomas.’

But Lancaster shook his head sadly, and silence fell between them. It was

Edward who broke it. ‘Maltravers did you say?’ he asked.

‘Sir John Maltravers. A natural choice because he married Berkeley’s

sister.’

Edward shook his head. ‘Another traitor― to me. He fled from England and

joined the Queen in France.’

‘It is hardly likely, my lord, that they would choose your friends.’

‘Oh, cousin, a great foreboding bas descended on me.’

‘It is the thought of change.’

‘Nay, cousin. Here I have accepted my fate. I have grown accustomed to

your company which has become very agreeable to me. And now― and now―

I feel closing in on me, cousin― a darkness, a horror―’

‘My lord, it is this sudden shock. All will be well. When you first came here we were not such friends― In time you and Berkeley and Maltravers―’

Edward shook his head.

‘Oh, cousin,’ he said, ‘pray God to help me.’

Lancaster took Edward’s hand and knelt and kissed it and it was as though

Edward had become his king again.

‘I shall pray for you, my lord. Be of good cheer. It may well be that life will be good to you yet.’

But Edward continued to shakc his head. The deepest melancholy had

settied upon him.

Lancaster had gone and his new custodians had arrivcd. Maltravers was

outwardly insolent, Berkley almost shamefacedly so, as though he could not stop himself remembering that this poor emaciated man had once been his King.

‘Rouse yourself,’ said John Maltravers. ‘There is a journey to be made

forthwith. Should he be bound with ropes, think you, Thomas?’

‘Let be,’ replied Berkeley. ‘He is hardly in fit state to run away from us.’

He who had once been a king before whom men bowed was now talked of

in his presence as though he were a piece of merchandise to be moved

whichever way suited his possessors. Humiliation indeed! But he was beyond humiliation. The terrible fear which had come to him when Lancaster had told him he was going would not leave him. He feared these men.

To Berkeley Castle they rode. How different it looked from when he had last seen it. Then he had ridden in as the King and there pageants and festivities greeted him. How different now! Gloomy! Foreboding! An impulse came to him to shout that he would not enter. Let them kill him here― on the spot. He would not go inside that stone-walled fortress. His whole being cried out against it. He wanted to turn back to Kenilworth, to beg them to send his cousin Lancaster back to him.

Maltravers jerked his head as he might to a groom.

‘Why the hesitation?’ he cried. ‘You waste our time, Edward Plantagenet.’

How they loved to show him that he who had once been their King was no

longer of account!

He entered the outer court and went under the machiolated gatehouse. He

wondered if he would ever come out a free man.

His horse was taken from him– a poor miserable creature to denote his

state and the contrast between it and the steeds ridden by his captors was pathetic. Maltravers laid ungentle hands on him and hustled him forward. ‘This way,’ he muttered.

High-born Lancaster had never shown him such disrespect. He must now

think of his days at Kenilworth as happy ones.

He was in the baronial hall– a fine place at the end of which was the

chapel.

‘I would like to say a prayer,’ he said. ‘Allow me to go to the chapel and kneel before the altar.’

‘You can pray in your room,’ said Thomas Berkeley.

Maltravers sneered: ‘You should have thought more of praying when you

had the time. You could have knelt before your altars then instead of before little Hugh.’

They were determined to torment him. He knew they would be cruel jailers.

He was mounting the great staircase leading to the keep and passing along a gallery when they came to a room which was heavily locked and barred.

‘Your new palace, my lord,’ said Maltravers with a mock bow.

Berkeley unlocked it and the door swung open with a creak suggesting it

was long since it had been used. It was dark. The only light which came into the room was from a slit high in the wall. It was narrow with enough room for a man to get his arm through, nothing more. On the floor lay a straw pallet; there was a stool and a small wooden chest which would serve as a table.

‘You cannot mean to lodge me here! cried Edward.

‘The man is ungrateful,’ cried Maltravers turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Berkeley looked uneasy.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it has been chosen as the room you shall occupy while you are here.’

Edward shivered and said no more.

They left him and he heard the key turn in the lock. This was abject misery.

He knelt down and prayed. ‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘let me die― now. Let this

wretchedness end. God help me.’

He rose from his knees and lay on his straw pallet. And then it seemed that God answered his call for help for he began to think of his son. That dear boy had loved him. It was true he himself had neglected the child. There had never seemed to be time to concern himself overmuch with children in the

schoolroom. Hugh had demanded so much of his attention. But he had always

shown his son love and affection. Edward could not know that his father was being treated thus. He would never allow it.

Hope had entered the dismal room.

Edward, the King, would save him. If he could but know what was

happening to his father he would come and rescue him.

If he could only get word to Edward. Meanwhile he was here in Berkeley

Castle in the hands of men who hated him.

–――――――

And how they hated him! It was their pleasure to heap indignity upon him.

Maltravers was the worst. Sometimes he thought he detected a gleam of pity in Berkeley’s eyes and when he visited him without Maltravers he behaved almost humanely. The discomfort of his room was intense. Fortunately it was summer.

He did not think he could live through a winter in such quarters. But perhaps by then Edward would have come to save him. If he could only get a message to his son!

The food they brought him was almost inedible– the leftover slops from the platters of the serving men, he believed. They brought him cold muddy water from the moat in which to shave himself and Maltravers had brought with him a wreath of ivy to place on his head to resemble a crown.

He had steeled his mind against their mockery.

He had always enjoyed physical health. Like his father he had in his youth been full of vigour. He had preferred the outdoor life to study. So had his father but he had never let that preference prevent the attention to state matters and the study of documents which were part of a King’s duties.

Lying on his bed, drifting back into the past, he knew he had failed

miserably. He knew he deserved to lose his crown, but not this degradation. No, no man whatever his sins should suffer thus.

He could not eat the foul food they sent him. Sometimes he thought of

Kenilworth as a kind of paradise. So it had been in comparison.

If only Lancaster were here that he might talk to him― He would not have

cared what they talked of as long as they talked.

The odour of the food on the platter sickened him. He longed for someone to take it away.

He lay on his straw and closed his eyes.

–――――――

There were voices in his room.

‘Perhaps we should send for a priest.’ That was Berkeley.

‘A priest! What matters it? Let him go unshriven to hell!’ Maltravers indeed.

‘Nevertbeless I will send a friar to him. No man should be denied such a

privilege on his deathbed.’

‘Who would have thought he could have lived so long? He has the strength

of an ox.’

‘He is like his father. They are giants, these Plantagenets.’

‘If his father could see him now―’

‘Perhaps he does, Maltravers.’

‘You are nervous, Thomas. You always have been. You can never forget,

can you, that he was once a king?’

‘I am going to send a friar to him.’

‘If you wish it. I would save myself the trouble of sending for him.’

There was quiet in the room.

So they had gone and he was near to death– so near it seemed that Berkeley was going to send a friar to him.

I welcome death, he thought. If I went to hell it could be no worse than this.

I have seen Satan himself in Maltravers. I have touched the bottom. I can go no deeper.

Edward, my son, you will come for me one day. If you knew what they were doing to your father, you would not allow this to happen to me.

Edward, come to me, before it is too late.

–――――――

Someone was kneeling by his bed. A cool band was on his brow.

‘Are you streng enough to pray with me, my lord?’

‘Who are you?’ asked Edward.

‘I am Thomas Dunhead of the Dominican Order.’

‘So you have come to pray for me?’

‘And to pray with you.’

‘I thank you. I have need of prayers.’

‘So think I, my lord. Let us pray for your return to health.’

‘Stay,’ murmured Edward. ‘If I return to health what is there for me? It is better for me to die. I am half way to death it seems and cannot have much farther to go.’

‘Life is God’s gift. We must wait until we are called to abandon it. Until that time comes it is our duty to cling to it, to preserve it, and to live it in that manner whch best pleases God.’

‘You are a free man, Friar Thomas.’

‘Let us pray together,’ said the friar.

‘Shall you come to me again?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘If I am still here.’

‘You must be. Your sins are many and you will need time to earn

remission.’

When the friar had gone Edward felt better. It was comforting to have

contact with human beings.

The next day the Dominican came again. When they were alone together

from his robes he brought forth meat and bread.

‘I have brought food for your body as well as for your mind,’ he said. ‘You are in need of nourishment if you are going to live long enough for repentance.’

Edward took the food and ate it ravenously.

‘That is well,’ said the friar. ‘I will bring more tomorrow. And we will work together to save your soul.’

And the next day he came again.

They prayed at first and then the Dominican said: ‘I have talked with my

brother Stephen of your state. He is a bold fellow. He has many friends. When they heard of what was happening to you here, they were enraged, for they

know that your Queen lives in adultery with Roger de Mortimer.’

‘It is all so remote to me,’ said Edward. ‘I scarcely ever think of it now.’

‘The people are growing restive. My brother Stephen loves a cause,

providing he thinks it a good one. My lord, when your strength is built up―’

‘Yes?’ said Edward slowly.

‘My brother is thinking of a plan of rescue.’

‘God is answering my prayers,’ said Edward. ‘And my son― could you

speak to my son?’

‘It would not be easy to approach the King. He is surrounded by men who

are your enemies. His mother and Mortimer will let none approach him. My

brother, who is a born conspirator, says that it would be better for you to escape from the castle first. Then you could rally supporters and let the King know where you were.’

‘Am I dreaming?’ asked Edward. ‘I do sometimes, you know. Then I find it

difficult to know whether I am in the past or the present.’

‘This is no dream. We have friends outside. Now you must feign to be very

sick. It must not be known that I bring you nourishment. When the time is ripe I shall come wearing two hooded robes. In the cell I shall take one off which you shall put on. We shall leave the castle together. Before this though I shall bring one of my brothers so that the guards are accustomed to seeing two of us. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘Yes, indeed I do.’

‘You must feign sickness. If they think you are too ill to rise from your

straw they become careless. The doors are left unlocked until after I have left. It is possible that we can bring about your escape.’

‘If you were discovered―’

‘It would cost me my life, I know. I should lose it most barbarously through the traitor’s death. But then the sooner I should come to heaven. It may be that God has chosen me as his instrument. He cannot wish that adulterous pair to rule our country.’

‘If I escape from here I shall never forget you.’