Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

‘My brother and I do not work for rewards but for the glory of God and the suppression of evil.’

‘I can do it,’ said Edward. ‘I can see it is the answer to my prayers. I shall go from here and I shall see my son again. When I look on his dear face and see the compassion there for his father I shall know that God has taken me into His care once more.’

–――――――

He was growing stronger. Such was his constitution that it responded

quickly to the nourishment Friar Thomas Dunhead brought to him. He drew new strength from the knowledge that he was not deserted. He had some friends in the world.

Conspiracy was like new life to him. He would do it. It was not the end. He and Thomas Dunhead would walk out of this castle together. He exulted to think of what he would do when he was free.

Edward, my son, my son! You will come to your father’s aid.

And then, all he wanted now was to live in quiet, peace and dignity.

It was not difficult to deceive Berkeley and Maltravers. They did not want him to die, it seemed. If he did they would be deprived of their post and their fun. Perhaps he should not think that of Berkeley for Berkeley was showing himself possessed of a conscience. Now that Edward’s sense of perception was increasing he could see that Berkeley had no love for his task and that his repulsion for it was growing. He was not such a man as Maltravers.

So he lay on his straw during the day and waited for the moment when he

should walk out of the castle.

Stephen came with his brother. Dressed as a Dominican he was allowed into

the prison chamber. They must have thought he was very close to death, thought Edward.

Stephen had an exuberance his brother lacked. His eyes glowed with the

love of adventure.

He thought it would be dangerous for one friar to enter and two to go out.

Some of the guards might be observant. Then the whole plan would be wrecked.

He would come with his brother in the robes of a Dominican. Underneath

these he would be dressed as a scullion. In the room he would give Edward his robe and Edward should go out of the castle with Thomas. He would slip out of the room in his scullion’s clothes so that he might not be noticed. They would arrange the bed so that it appeared that Edward was in it. Then the escape might not be noticed until the next day.

It seemed a good plan if it worked.

Finaily the day came. The two men entered the room. They knelt and prayed

for a while. Then Edward put on the robe and he and Thomas walked out of the castle without protest. Stephen as the scullion left soon after.

Less than a mile beyond the castle, horses were waiting.

To feel the fresh air intoxicated Edward. He felt suddenly young and strong again, full of hope.

‘It is over,’ he cried. ‘I have come through hell. God is with me.’

–――――――

He rode between the brothers Thomas and Stephen.

‘To Corfe Castle,’ said Stephen. ‘There you will be received, my lord, by

your friends. Once It is known that you have escaped from your captors there will be many to rally round you. The people are weary of rapacious Mortimer and the sinful Queen.’

‘And the King―’

‘The King is but a boy but there are signs that he is wise beyond his years and he likes not his mother’s conduct. He is displeased with Mortimer―

Everything will be different soon, my lord.’

‘I would not wish to be put back on the throne,’ said Edward. ‘I accept my unworthiness. But if I could but see my son― if I could do homage to him as England’s King― I should be content.’

Corfe Castle rose before them. One of the strongest castles in the kingdom set there on the peninsular of Purbeck, impregnable, menacing to enemies,

guarding the land.

‘Henceforth I shall always love Corfe Castle,’ said Edward.

The gates were opened. The party rode in. What a different reception this

was.

‘How can I ever thank you?’ cried Edward.

‘We but did our duty,’ answered Thomas Dunhead.

‘My first desire is to send a message to my son,’ said Edward. ‘It shall be done. First we will rest awhile and then we shall take your message. Stephen and I will take it together.’

‘I thank God for his mercy,’ said Edward.

They partook of food and wine and Edward was taken to the chamber which

had been prepared for him.

He could not help but compare it to the misery of Berkeley.

‘We shall leave at dawn,’ said Thomas.

‘I know my son will soon be with me,’ replied Edward.

He fell into a deep sleep. It was light when he awoke. Something had

awakened him. He had been prodded. He could feel the sharp pain in his back.

He opened his eyes.

It was a nightmare. It could not be true. Fate could not be so cruel.

Standing by his bed were Berkeley and Maltravers.

‘My lord’s attempt has come to naught,’ said Maltravers in a tone of mock

concern.

‘What happened?’ cried Edward starting up.

‘It was not without its shrewdness, that plot,’ went on Maltravers, talking over him, ‘but we were not so easily deceived. The empty bed was discovered almost as soon as Edward Plantagenet had left. He must think we are fools at Berkeley. We discovered the direction in which he had fled and here we are at Corfe to continue taking good care of him.’

Berkeley said almost gently: ‘We have our duty to perform, you will

understand, my lord.’

‘We have got the Dominican. In the short time left to him doubtless he will regret his recklessness.’

‘His brother has escaped,’ added Berkeley.

‘But not for long,’ said Maltravers. ‘It will be the gallows and the traitor’s sentence for them. Mayhap they will regret their folly when the rope is cut and the fire applied to their entrails.’

Edward shivered and Berkeley said: ‘We shall await orders, my lord. In the meantime we shall stay here.’

So he lay on his bed and despair enveloped him.

It seemed to him that God had deserted him.

MURDER AT BERKELEY CASTLE

THE Queen was frantic.

‘Think what might have happened. He might even have raised men to

support him!’

‘He could never have done it,’ declared Mortimer. ‘He might have sent word to the King.’

‘But he did not, my love. And he must never have a chance to come so near

to it again.’

Isabella looked at him, her beautiful eyes brilliant with the excitement which burned within her. There was something in the way Mortimer spoke which told her that his thoughts were the same as hers.

In such a case as this there was one way and one way only.

While Edward lived there would be danger and the older the King grew and

the less popular the Queen and her lover became, the greater the danger.

Mortimer wondered what Edward’s revenge on him would be if the tables

were turned and he held the power.

Mortimer knew it would be the traitor’s death.

They must not be squeamish. It had been obvious to him for a long time—

and it must have been to Isabella too– that there was one course of action open to them.

The King must die.

They did not need to say the words. They understood each other’s minds too well.

‘Your son-in-law is too gentle,’ she said.

‘I know it well.’

‘Then he should be removed.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘Berkeley is hampered by his conscience. He cannot

forget that Edward was once his King.’

‘Then he is no man to have charge of him.’

‘I want them to go back to Berkeley. Berkeley is the place. My son-in-law

shall take him back.’

‘And then―’

‘I shall find some pretext to remove Berkeley and send another man to help Maltravers.’

‘Who?’

‘I am turning it over in my mind. Gurney perhaps, Thomas Gurney. There is

a man who will work well for money and the prospect of advancement.’

‘My dear,’ said the Queen quickly, ‘it must not look like murder. There must be no wounds.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘You are right as ever. A slow death lack of food, lack of fresh air― despair― these should be our weapons.’

‘But we cannot wait too long. Edward is restive. But for the Scottish matter, he would want to see his father. Gentle Mortimer, we cannot afford to wait.’

‘Nor shall we. ‘Ere long I promise you this burden shall be lifted from us.’

‘Never forget, it must seem as though it were an act of God.’

‘So shall it,’ Mortimer promised her.

–――――――

So he was back in Berkeley― not the same room this time. They had chosen

one over the charnel house. The stench was nauseating. The food they brought him was inedible. Although he grew weaker his strength held out and he

astonished his jailers by his grip on life.

Maltravers told him how his friend the Dominican had died.

‘Quite a spectacle! They strung him up and cut him down alive―’

‘I do not wish to hear,’ replied Edward.

‘But, my lord, you are no longer in a position to decide what you will and will not hear. It is my wish to tell you how your dear friend died.’

‘Have done,’ muttered Thomas Berkeley. ‘It is a pointless matter. The

Dominican died bravely― leave it at that.’

Yes, thought Maltravers, it was time Berkeley went. That night Berkeley came into the room.

‘I have come to say good-bye,’ he told Edward.

Edward seized his hand. ‘No, no. You must stay with me.’

‘I have orders from the court to leave you. Another will be taking my place.’

‘Oh no― they are taking you away from me because you are the only friend

left to me.’

‘Oh, my lord,’ cried Berkeley, ‘I will pray for you.’

‘It is strange,’ said Edward, ‘that it was only when you became my jailer

that you were my friend.’

Berkeley did not speak. His emotion was too strong for him. He had

deplored the conduct of the deposed King. He had been one of those who had worked to bring him down. But he must have pity for the man and he was

convinced that none should be treated as he had been, no matter what his crimes.

His instincts cried out against it; and he was filled with misgivings because he knew that this was why he was being withdrawn from his post. The Queen and her lover would have no mercy.

He knelt before Edward and kissed his hand as though he were taking leave

of his King

When he had gone blank despair came to Edward.

He thought of the brave Dominican being tortured; the only relief he felt was that Stephen had escaped. Lancaster had been taken from him and now

Berkeley. And it was because these were humane men.

–――――――

Isabella had sent for Sir Thomas Gurney. Mortimer was with her when the

man arrived.

‘Go at once to Berkeley Castle,’ said the Queen. ‘You are to take Sir

Thomas Berkeley’s place. He will have left by the time you arrive.’

Thomas Gurney bowed.

‘You understand the position well,’ went on Mortimer. ‘The late King is an encumbrance to the good of the country. He is in a weak state. There can be no doubt that his days are numbered. It would be a blessing to bring him to his end.’

Gurney bowed. He understood that his task was to expedite Edward’s

departure.

‘There must be no sign that the King has been helped to his death,’ said the Queen. ‘No outward violence. Such could rouse the people to revere him. You know how they are all seeking martyrs.’

‘I understand, my lord, my lady,’ said Gurney.

‘We shall not forget those who are of service to us,’ replied Mortimer.

So Sir Thomas Gurney took his leave and with all haste left for Berkeley.

–――――――

Edward hated the man as soon as he saw him. He was another such as

Maltravers. He knew they meant him ill.

He would lie in his bed at night and listen to footsteps waiting for them to come in and kill him.

For that was what they were going to do. He was taking too long to die and they were impatient. He saw that in their faces. In the morning they came in to look at him and he would pretend to be asleep.

‘It would seem he has made a pact with the devil,’ grumbled Maltravers. ‘He has the constitution of an ox.’ Maltravers had picked up the stool and seemed about to crash it down on Edward’s head.

‘Have a care.’ That was Gurney. ‘You know the orders. No sign of physical

ill treatment. A blow from you could cost you your head.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Maltravers and Edward heard him put the stool down.

‘They are strong, these Plantagenets,’ murmured the new jailer Gurney.

So they insulted him and brought him muddy water to drink and food which

cattle would have refused. But weak as he was he still lived on. There was a mischievous tenacity in him. He was not going to die to please them.

–――――――

The messenger had risen with all speed from the Marcher land which had

been restored to Mortimer since his return to England. He had urgent news for his lord.

As soon as he was admitted to Mortimer’s presence he threw himself on his

knees for one always feared powerful men when bad news was brought to them.

Perhaps in this case the great Mortimer, now virtually ruler of England, would reward his good servant.

‘My lord, lord, I have lost no time. You will want to know that your enemy Sir Rhys ap Griffith is calling men to his banner. He is urging them to fight for the true King who now lies languishing in a prison.’

‘By God,’ cried Mortimer, ‘I should have guessed Rhys ap Griffith would

make trouble if he could. What response does he get?’

The messenger looked as though he would rather not tell and Mortimer

shouted: ‘Have no fear. I would know all.’

‘Many Welshmen are gathering to his banner. They are saying evil things of you, my lord. They are saying they will free the King. I had thought you should know.’

‘You did well to come to me,’ said Mortimer. ‘I tell you this; the upstart Rhys will find ere long that he has led himself and his followers into trouble.’

‘Would my lord give me orders?’

Mortimer was thoughtful. ‘Go back,’ he said. ‘Watch and send news to me

of how he fares.’

When the messenger had gone he was thoughtful. No army Rhys ap Griffith

could raise could have a chance against his and Isabella’s. It was not the thought of that petty force which disturbed him.

It was the growing support for the King throughout the country.

When he and Isabella had come to England it had seemed the entire country

was behind them. Now there was murmuring. First the Dunhead affair. That had been a warning. If that had succeeded and Edward had established his head-quarters somewhere he might have rallied men to his cause. Thank God it had been frustrated before its fruition. And now this enemy was attempting to raise the one-time King’s stanclard in Wales. What if men started doing that all over the country?

It would not be wise to take an army to Wales and crush Rhys ap Griffith.

That would set others following his example. There was one thing which must be done and that quickly.

The reason for rebellion must be removed. Why would he not die? He had

been subjected to the utmost discomfort; he had been almost starved, set above the charnel house at Berkeley, the stench which should have carried off a sick man by now.

But Edward lived on.

They had been gentle with him. Of course they had. It would be unwise for

him to be seen to be murdered. Heaven knew what retribution would follow

those who murdered a king.

They would be haunted by fear for the rest of their lives. Edward must die―

but by natural causes.

He must be removed in a manner so skilful that all would believe he had

passed naturally away.

But there must be no delay. They had prevaricated too long. They must act

promptly now.

He would send for a man he knew– a man who had made a profession of

murder, a man who was so skilled at the job that he could produce death by violence and none be able to detect a sign of it.

No, on second thoughts, he would not send for the man. This was too private a matter. He would go and see him and tell him what must be done.

–――――――

Days merged into night and night into day. It was dark in his room and he

was scarcely aware of the coming of the dawn. He had recovered a little. He had a purpose in life. They wanted him to die and he was determined not to.

They had done all they could to impair his health. The smell from below was so obnoxious that at first it had made him retch, but a man can grow accustomed to most things. He noticed it less now. He dreamed of banquets when he had sat side by side with Gaveston or Hugh and imagined that the foul food they sent him was some special dish which one of his dear boys had concocted for him.

He was not going to die to please them.

They watched him daily. He missed Berkeley, Berkeley would have

changed towards him as Lancaster had. He and Berkeley would have become

friends if left alone. He would have been given fur covers for his bed, a fur wrap, a glowing fire, a game of chess. They had known this so they had sent Berkeley away.

Maltravers and Gurney remained. There would never be any friendship

between them and himself.

A dark shadow had entered the castle.

There was a third man. They called him William Ogle. What was there

about that man? He walked softly with a cat-like tread. He laughed a great deal.

It was loud, mirthless laughter. It began to worry Edward.

When darkness fell he was aware of the shadows. He had nightmares in

which William Ogle suddenly appeared in the darkness of the room.

Whenever Ogle was in the room, a strangeness came over Edward. His

whole body felt as though it was covered in crawling ants. He shivered though his body felt on fire.

That was the effect William Ogle had on him.

Yet the man was respectful– more so than Maltravers and Gurney, calling

him my lord and bowing now and then.

There is an evil about that man, thought Edward. I hope he will not stay here long.

–――――――

Night. Footsteps in the corridor. Edward lay on his face breathing deeply.

The three men came into the room. One carried a lantern. They stood for a

few seconds looking down on the sleeping man.

In the open doorway a brazier threw out a faint light and there was a smell of heating iron.

William Ogle was clearly in command.

He beckoned them close to him.

‘Is all ready?’ asked Maltravers.

Ogle nodded.

‘Remember. Your hands must not touch him. There must be no bruises.

Bring the table here and place it over him and hold it so that he cannot move.

Quickly now― while he sleeps. He must not be touched. Those are orders. No outward sign.’

Silently the two men lifted the table and placed it over Edward so that its sides pinned him to his bed.

He awoke and thought this was one of his nightmares.

He was naked. They had taken his robe. He caught a glimpse of Ogle

approaching the bed and in his hand was a long spit glowing red hot.

And then such agony as no man had ever dreamed of. The red hot spit was

inserted into his body.

He screamed violently as the fearful instrument of torture and death

penetrated into his organs.

‘Think of Gaveston,’ cried Ogle. ‘Think of little Hugh. Think of them, my

lord― Think of them―’

Edward tried to struggle but the table was pinning him down. His screams

were so loud that they penetrated the thick walls of the castle. Everyone within those walls that night must have heard him.

‘He can’t last long,’ said Ogle, and even Maltravers and Gurney were

shaken.

Edward was no longer screaming; his breath was coming in long tortured

gasps.

‘His inside will be a charred mass by now,’ said Ogle. ‘And there will be no mark on his body for any to see. The spit is protected by horn so there will not be a hint of a burn even.’

He seemed proud of his handiwork.

Edward lay still now. Ogle withdrew the spit. There was no movement from

the body as he did so.

‘Take off the table now,’ said Ogle. ‘There will be not a mark on his body.

No sign of violence, no bruise, no burns. None will know that his intestines have been burned away.’

The table was set down. Neither Maltravers nor Gurney wished to touch the

man. It was the experienced murderer who did that. He turned him over and

gave a gasp as he did so.

‘Bring the lantern nearer,’ he commanded.

The three men stood at the bedside, looking down on the still dead face on which was an expression of terror and agony such as they had never before

witnessed.

The features were set in that horrible grimace of pain. Nothing could have more clearly proclaimed that Edward the Second had died the most terrible, violent and cruel death which man could devise.

‘He died in his sleep,’ the said, ‘It was a peaceful ending.’

There was no mark of violence anywhere on his body. But that expression

on his face was clear for all who beheld it.

The three murderers conferred together.

‘You said there would be no sign,’ complaincd Maltravers.

‘How was I to know it would show on his face?’ grumbled Ogle.

He had only obeyed orders, he said. So had they all but they thought it wise to slip quietly out of the country and wait for the outcome.

The Abbot of Gloucester came to the castle and took the body away. It

would remain in his care until a stately funeral could be arranged. Throughout the country the people were talking of their late King. What had happened to him? There was some mystery about his death.

Was his wife not living in adultery with her powerful and avaricious

paramour?

The young King was fast assuming his responsibility. He had been guided

too long by his mother and her lover.

There were questions he wanted to ask. Where were those who had held his

father prisoner? Why had they left the country? There was so much he wanted to know. On all skies there were scandals concerning his mother. He was breaking free of his bonds. There was so much he had to discover and he was determined to learn.

The storm was rising and the storm would grow big.