Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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They came back to him. He could see that Lincoln was half apologetic, but

Warwick was adamant. He would be. He had never forgiven Perrot for his

success at the tournament and most of all for giving him the nickname of the Mad Hound. Warwick was a strong man and Warwick was firm in his

denunciation of Gaveston and stressed his determination not to allow him back in the country.

Edward could have wept with rage. He wanted to arrest Warwick and have

him sent to the Tower. But he had grown wily in his great desire to bring

Gaveston back.

He bowed his head and accepted the judgment of the barons. So the time had not yet come.

But the next day, three of the barons asked for an audience. They were

Lincoln, Pembroke and Surrey.

Lincoln was growing more and more unwieldy. Poor old Burst Belly!

Edward could hear Perrot’s derisive voice and the longing for him was almost unbearable. Then there was Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, who thought himself royal because his father was the half-brother of Henry II. Perrot had had a nickname for him too; Joseph the Jew because he was dark, of pallid

complexion and had a hooked nose. Then there was John de Warenne, Earl of

Surrey, one of those whom Perrot had defeated at the tournament

Lincoln was their spokesman. He had come tell Edward that he and his

friends deplored the enmity which appeared to exist between the King and the barons and since the King had shown himself willing to accept their reforms they would show their appreciation by agreeing to his side of the bargain.

Edward felt dizzy with joy. He had succeeded. Oh, clever he had been. Soon Perrot would be in his arms. they would laugh together when he heard of

Edward’s cunning diplomacy. To think that he could win over old Burst Belly to their side. The Mad Dog was still foaming venom at the mouth, but a plague on the Mad Dog. They would get along very well without him.

‘Piers Gaveston has it seems done well in Ireland.’ said Pembroke. ‘It may well be that he has grown serious-minded and changed his ways.’

‘Oh God forbid that he should do that,’ prayed Edward. ‘Let my Perrot

return to me exactly as he was when he went away.’

‘His titles must be restored to him,’ said Edward, a trill of happiness in his voice.

‘It would be well,’ advised the ponderous Lincoln, ‘for him to behave with greater decorum than he did before he went away.’

‘He has learned his lesson,’ said Edward; and he thought: And so have I!

Once you are back, sweet Perrot, there shall be no more wanderings.

‘I can promise you he will,’ said the King.

Surrey held up a hand. Edward guessed that he had come scarcely of his

own free will. He reckoned they had had to argue with him, placate him. He would never forgive Perrot for defeating him at Wallingford and snatching his championship from him forever.

Surrey said: ‘Gaveston will have to tread with the utmost caution.’’

‘I promise you he shall,’ cried Edward.

It was clear that they had agreed reluctantly to the return of Gaveston.

–――――――

Edward lost no time. He sent the messenger without delay. Come back,

brother Perrot. I am waiting for you.

Edward went to Chester. That beautiful city which was to be their meeting

place. Gaveston meanwhile had left Ireland immediately. He came like a great warrior, for he retained his love of pomp and ceremony– with himself at the centre. He landed at Milford Haven with a retinue of followers― Irish, English and Gascons.

Impatiently, the King waited for him. He stood on the top of that wall which had been built by Marcius, King of the British, and looked out for the coming of his friend. He walked the two red-stoned miles of the walls and had climbed old square tower of Julius Caesar when finally he saw Gaveston coming.

He called for a horse and galloped out to meet him.

There they embraced.

‘Perrot! Perrot, my beloved. At last you are home.’

Gaveston looked eagerly into the King’s face. ‘Nothing has changed,’ he

said. ‘Tell me nothing has changed.’

‘It is as it always was, dear friend,’ the King assured him.

–――――――

The Queen was incensed. So they had brought back Gaveston! Edward was

completely infatuated with him. So far, she was not pregnant. If she had been she could have been more reconciled. It was maddening that she, one of the most beautiful of queens, should be so neglected. One day she would have her revenge.

If she had not been a queen, she would have taken a lover. There were

plenty who would be ready to risk a great deal for her. But no, even she dared not. There must be no doubts as to the royalty of her children. It was to be the old battle with Gaveston again.

She realized with a certain exultation that Gaveston was a fool. He had

suffered banishment more than once and he should have been warned; but it

seemed the man’s overweening vanity would be his downfall as it had on

previous occasions. One would have thought that having felt the power of the barons he would have done his best to keep in their good graces. Heaven knew they had been given grudgingly enough. But no! Edward’s Perrot could not

forget that he was the King’s favourite; he wanted to rule the country through the King and this was what he was attempting to do. As for poor besotted

Edward he could deny his minion nothing. It was nauseating.

But she could watch with amusement because she knew that Gaveston’s

downfall could not be far off. It was her duty to lure Edward to her bed when she could. She had impressed on him the need to get children and he did realize this. God, she thought, if this were not the case, I would scorn you, Edward Plantagenet. Do you think I have no pride? I, a Princess of France, to be set aside for a low-born adventurer?

In her heart, though, she knew that one day she would be revenged.

Meanwhile she watched foolish Gaveston prance about the Court. She saw

the offence he gave to high and low. He was becoming more and more insolent every day and would talk audibly of Monsieur Boele Crevée in the presence of the Earl of Lincoln, calling attention to the Earl’s enormous paunch and

although humbler men might take up the soubriquet of Burst Belly, they did not admire Gaveston for using it.

Gaveston’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Gloucester been a good friend to him once, irritated him ; and he had the impudence to dub him a whore’s son, which was a slight on his mother– Joanna, the King’s aunt.

Gaveston believed that the great esteem which the King had for him entitled him to behave exactly as he felt inclined by the mood of the moment.

Let him, thought Isabella. He is sharpening the axe which will one day sever that insolent head from his shoulders.

–――――――

Gaveston had been back but three months when Edward called a council to

appear in York. It was disconcerting when a number of the barons, led by

Lancaster, refused to appear and when the King demanded to know the reason why, he was told quite bluntly that it was because of Gaveston’s presence.

‘They are all jealous of me,’ said Gaveston blithely. ‘They envy me your

lordship’s love.’

But he did not really think that was the reason. They envied him because he was richer, more handsome and so much more clever than they were.

‘A plague on their council,’ he added. ‘Come sit, my lord, and let us talk of other matters than this dreary community of slow-witted oafs.’

Edward said: ‘You must not talk so of my relations, wicked one.’

‘As I have told you many times, my lord, the perfections allotted to your

family were all saved for you.’

So they laughed and snapped their fingers at the barons, but knew that they were moving towards a repetition of what had happened before.

‘Let us do a play for Christmas,’ suggested Gaveston. ‘What say you, my

lord?’

‘You know how to divert me.’

‘Then we will go to Langley and have Christmas there together. Oh how the

thought of that pleases me!’

‘It fills me with great joy to have you back with me,’ said Edward.

So they spent Christmas at Langley, in Hertfordshire, and they were very

merry and for days they were happy together. Edward showered gifts on

Gaveston and calculating their worth, Gaveston felt it was indeed a pleasant Christmas that they spent at Langley.

February came and it was time to attend the Parliament at Westminster.

Edward and Gaveston came south together lamenting that thee happy days of

Christmas were over.

They knew there would be trouble. What had happened at York had been a

pointer to that. This would be more serious. This was Westminster. If any of the barons refused to attend the Parliament and gave as their reason the presence of Gaveston, that would have to be taken seriously.

Edward was downcast, terrified that it would mean separation again.

Gaveston was more optimistic.

‘We will find a way, sweet lord,’ he said. ‘Leave it to me.’

‘You are clever Perrot, I know,’ replied Edward. ‘But how I hate these men!

I think most of all I hate Warwick. Your name for him is apt. He is like a mad dog, and I fear mad dogs. Their bite can mean death.’

‘We will draw the fangs of this one, Edward, before he has time to infect us with his venom.’

But it was as Edward feared. Warwick, Oxford, Arundel and Hereford, led

by Lancaster, refused to attend. Their reason for their absence was as before.

Because of the presence of Piers Gaveston.

Edward was in a quandary. There must be a session of Parliament, for he

needed money and only Parliament could grant it. Also there was animosity in the air and he knew towards whom it was directed.

He was afraid for Perrot.

They discussed the matter together and even Gaveston dropped his easy

optimism. They were out to destroy him, and he knew it.

‘You must get away from here,’ said the King. ‘It breaks my heart but you

must go. I cannot be at peace while you are here for I fear for you. Leave at once for the North. I will join you as soon as I can. Then I will call the Parliament and they will assembled because you are no longer with me.’

It was drastic. It was infuriating. But they both saw that a separation by themselves was better than one which would be forced on him.

So they parted, and Gaveston rode North.

–――――――

It was unfortunate that about this time the Earl of Lincoln died. It was true that he had become alienated from the King because of Gaveston and had deeply resented the insolent of Burst Belly being applied to him; but although he was somewhat ponderous he had been a steady influence and had won the respect of Edward the First. It was because the second Edward was so unlike his father that Lincoln had swerved his allegiance but what he had done was had been that

which he thought right for the country.

The reason why his death was such a blow to the King was that Thomas Earl

of Lancaster, who had married Lincoln’s daughter, on Lincoln’s death inherited the earldoms of Lincoln and Salisbury through his wife. As Lancaster already had, besides his royal birth, the earldoms of Leicester and Derby, he was

without doubt one of the richest and most influential men in the country.

Being seven years older than the King and considerably more mature, he had overnight become an even greater power in the land than he had been before. He had shown himself to be one of the fiercest enemies of Piers Gaveston, and with Lincoln dead, discontented barons looked to him to lead the faction which was going to demand the final banishment of Gaveston.

The King was very worried.

Edward lost no time in joining Gaveston under the pretext of making war on Scotland and he was at Berwick when news came to him of Lincoln s death and Lancaster’s accession to the earldoms.

It was very pleasant to be far away from the conflict, and Gaveston said:

‘You know, lord, we should be grateful to your enemies the Scots.’

Then they laughed together and talked in that intimate fashion which was

such a delight to the King and they wondered how long they would be left in peace to enjoy each other’s company.

Their pleasure was interrupted by an announcement that Lancaster was on

his way north to pay homage to the King for the earldoms of Lincoln and

Salisbury which he had just acquired. That, he said, must be his first duty.

‘A plague on him,’ cried Edward. ‘I never trusted that man.’

‘He’ll be insupportable now,’ agreed Gaveston, and added enviously, ‘He

will be the richest man in the kingdom― no exception.’

‘My Perrot must run him pretty close,’ said the King fondly.

‘But five earldoms! He will think himself more important than the King.’

‘He did that with three.’

‘We must find a way of cutting that arrogant fellow down a little, my lord.’

Edward agreed, but it was Lancaster who was to cut Gaveston down.

One of Lancaster’s men arrived at Berwick with a message from his master.

The King heard what the man had to say and his brow darkened with anger.

Gaveston was with him and his indignation was as great as the King’s

because Lancaster’s message was that he refused to come to Berwick. He owed allegiance to the King for his lands in England and as Berwick was over the border into Scotland it would not be proper for him to come to the King. The King must come to him.

‘I never heard such insolence!’ cried Gaveston.

Edward was uneasy. ‘Some would say he was right. Berwick is across the border and we are just inside Scotland.’

‘So you will give way to this man.’

The messenger said: ‘My lord has said that if you will not accept his

allegiance he must return south without it.’

Edward realized what that meant. At any time, Lancaster could raise an

army against him– and he was capable and rich enough to do that– and not

put himself wrong with the law, because he had sworn no allegiance.

‘There is nothing to be done but cross the border and meet him,’ said

Edward. ‘He must take his oath of allegiance.’

Gaveston had to agree and the King sent the messenger back to say that he

would see Lancaster at Haggerston, a small place close to Berwick and just within the English border.

There they met– a very arrogant enriched Lancaster, and a somewhat

humiliated Edward with Gaveston who felt mischievous and at the same time

excessively envious of this man whose birth and marriage had brought him five earldoms and all that went with them.

The King received the Earl’s homage with Gaveston beside him. Lancaster’s

behaviour was very correct as far as the King was concerned but the

contemptuous manner in which he ignored Gaveston was obvious. Edward felt

furious but could do nothing about it in public although he raved against

Lancaster in private.

As for Gaveston, he was furious and with his fury was mingled led a deep

apprehension. He had realized that the powerful Lancaster was the bitterest of his enemies and with these two men– and many others― against him, his

position was very precarious indeed.

Lancaster left and Edward with Gaveston returned to Berwick, but they both knew they could not remain together much longer. The King must go to London for another session of Parliament.

Fearfully, they left Berwick together but the parting was near.

‘Let it be Bamborough Castle,’ said Edward. ‘It is a strong fortress and I shall feel that you are far enough from Westminster there to be safe until we can be together.

So to Bamborough they rode, and in the formidable castle there, set high

upon a perpendicular rock looking out to sea, they took a painful leave of each other.

The King rode south, determined to defy his barons while Gaveston within

in the stone walls of Bamborough assessed his case. He had held the King’s favor for a long time, far longer than he had dared hope. He was a rich man. He had been wise in getting a great deal of his wealth out of England because he had always been aware that one day he could lose everything that remained

there. His estates and possessions in Gascony were vast. At any time he could slip away to them. But he loved possessions so much he could never resist the desire to gain more.

He was fond of the King. He was greatly flattered to be so beloved by him.

Edward had been faithful since the days of their childhood, and Gaveston was wise enough to know that his fame and fortune rested entirely on the King’s favor. But the day would come when he must leave that rich field even though there was still much to be gleaned. He would have to choose that moment and not allow his avarice to overcome his common sense.

There in Bamborough, this castle which had stood on its cliff of rock since the days when the Romans had built it, he could look out on a stormy sea and contemplate his fate as so many others had before him. Bamborough, named

after Queen Bebba the wife of King Ida of the Angles who had turned the

Roman fortress into a castle, could provide only a temporary refuge. He paced the wall and thought of Edward and wondered what the outcome of this visit to Westminster would be.

–――――――

‘Banish Gaveston!’ That was what they wanted.

They were too strong for him. It was: Gaveston must go or civil war!

Was ever a King so plagued? They would rob him of the most important

thing on earth to him and he, the King, who could have commanded them all!

The barons should have been allowed to become so powerful. They had

forced his great grandfather King John to sign the Magna Carta and ever since then it was not so much the King who ruled the country as the barons.

Civil war. He contemplated it. It would be insupportable. He pictured

himself and Perrot flying before them, being captured by them and then what would they do to Perrot? They would kill him as a traitor. That was what they wanted to do. Banishment was the better alternative. At least he would know that Perrot was alive and awaiting the moment when he could return.

He tried to resist but it was useless. They were bent on Perrot’s leaving the country. How he argued; he even pleaded. They were adamant. Gaveston must

go.

It was Gaveston who tried to comfort him.

My friend, he wrote, if they banish me, I shall be back. Do you think they can keep us apart forever? No, we will overcome this as we have those other occasions. Be of good cheer, my dear lord.

It was no use. He was desolate.

The barons had given their ultimatum. Gaveston must leave the country by

the first of November or face arrest.

–――――――

Isabella was with the King again. She was cool but did not reproach him.

She was so eager to have a child that she was prepared to set aside her anger at his treatment of her. One day she would be revenged on him, but it was clear that that time was not yet. It was no use writing to her father and complaining.

He had no time to listen to her. He was too busy with his own concerns; he was continuing with his persecution of the Templars and Jacques de Molai was still his prisoner awaiting the sentence of death from the Pope.

Still she must make herself sufficiently pleasant to her husband to assure his visiting her bedchamber now and then. It was irksome, humiliating in the

extreme but of course necessary.

Edward himself was constantly looking for messengers who would bring

him news of his dear Perrot. What was he doing now? Who was benefiting from his sparkling wit and the sheer joy of looking at his handsome graceful form?

Was there anything he could do to help his beloved friend? He had been

forbidden to go to Gascony by those harsh barons so he so he would be

wandering about in France not knowing where he was going to find refuge. The King of France would not help him. He must have heard evil reports of him

from Isabella. He could hardly blame Isabella for her attitude towards Gaveston.

He must be fair to her. She had been as good a wife as he could expect. He was ready to admit that his passion for Perrot must be a trial to her. That was why whenever he could bring himself to do so he would spend time with her. He

would be as delighted as she was to hear that she was with child. That would salve his conscience considerably.

What could she do to ease his sorrow? He thought continually of Perrot and those places where they had been together and he made a habit of visiting them and trying to recapture those happy times.

Wallingford! How often they had been together there in that ancient castle on the west bank of the Thames. He had always been fond of it since he had heard as a child that his great ancestor William the Conqueror had been invited there by the Saxon, Wigod, who owned it, to receive the homage of the principle nobles before marching to London.

Perrot had loved the place. It was here that he had excelled at that never-to-be-forgotten tournament when he had so humiliated the champions that they had never forgiven him.

Christmas would soon be upon him. How dreary it would be without Perrot!

There was a gentle tap at the door. He called permission to enter. He stared.

He could not believe his eyes. Then the wild joy took possession of him.

‘Perrot!’

‘None less,’ exclaimed Gaveston. ‘Once again I faced perils to be with my

lord.’

They were in each other’s arms and Edward was trembling with the wild joy

which possessed him.

‘So you came home to me. Oh Perrot, Perrot, friend!’

‘I am no wanderer, Edward. I want to be with my dear King. I care for

nothing― as long as we are together.’

‘Perrot, what will they say? What will they do?’

‘That is for tomorrow,’ said Perrot blithely.

–――――――

He kept him with him. They could not bear to be separated. Perrot could

stay away no longer. Where would he go, even if it were possible to be happy away from his King? Holland? France? The first bored him and he was hardly welcomed by the Queen’s father. Gascony, his native land, was denied him. He ground his teeth to remember all the treasure he had stored safely away in Gascony. But this was not the true answer. It was the need to be with his

beloved King which had made him face the anger of those dreary barons in

order to be with him.

What could they do? There would be trouble when it was known that he was

back. He had been ordered to leave and had given his word that he would.

‘For you, my King, I would break a thousand oaths,’ said Gaveston.

‘And I for you, dear friend.’

The Queen was incensed when she heard that Gaveston had returned. She

came to Wallingford and burst in upon the King. Fortunately it was one of those moments when Gaveston was not with him.

‘Gaveston is mad,’ she cried. ‘The barons have ordered him out of the

country.’

‘The barons will have to accept the fact that he has returned.’

‘Edward, do you want to plunge this country into civil war?’

‘You are too dramatic, Isabella. There cannot be war because one man

returns to this country when they want him out of it.’

‘There can be,’ said Isabella, ‘and there will be.’

She thought of her recent ride through London and how the people had

cheered her. Isabella the Fair, they called her. They loved to see her bright beauty and they were indignant because the King ignored her. They could not understand how he could prefer that mincing friend of his to his beautiful Queen. They loved Isabella the more as their hatred for Gaveston grew. Oddly enough they did not blame the King so much as Gaveston. Perhaps if he had

been less handsome, less tall, less like his father, they might have done. But Edward was their anointed King, his father’s legacy to them and they wanted him to remain their King but to behave as his father had.

Isabella knew that she had the people with her. What she wanted was a

son― a son who should look like his grandfather and then the people would

rally to him, and in charge of him would naturally be his mother. Perhaps then Isabella could pay back some of the insults she had had to accept from Edward and Gaveston.

But it was not to be yet. How could she become pregnant when her

husband’s attentions were so sporadic? They slept together only for duty on his part, ambition on hers. One day, she promised herself, she would have a lover who would match his passionate nature with hers. But first she must get her child. She longed for it; she prayed for it; and it was the only reason why she suppressed her contempt and hatred for her husband.

In a measure, she exulted in Gaveston’s return, for in coming back, he

defied the barons and the Archbishop of Canterbury. She knew that none of

them would meekly accept such blatant contempt for his word. Trouble was

brewing for Gaveston and if he and the King were too infatuated with each other to see it, let them frivol away the hours for a while before their fate overtook them.

News came from London. It was known that the favourite had broken his

vows and returned. It was known that he was with the King and that Edward

was with him throughout the days and nights.

Bands of men trained as soldiers marched through the streets of London.

They wanted the favourite to lose his head since he would not lose himself abroad. Isabella was a saint. London loved her as much as they hated Gaveston.

She was the wronged wife, the beautiful Princess who had charmed them, whom they had believed would make a man of their King. And what had happened? He neglected her. He treated her with contempt; he spent his nights in the licentious company of Piers Gaveston whose mother, rumor had it, had been burned as a witch. Gaveston had clearly inherited some of her powers for he had completely bewitched the King. They wanted Gaveston’s blood. They wanted him brought

to London and his head cut off and stuck up on London Bridge.

Worse still the barons were gathering together. It was unthinkable that they should allow Gaveston to flout them. The Archbishop of Canterbury, old Robert de Winchelsey, communicated Gaveston for breaking the oath he had made to

the barons. That frightened Edward but Gaveston shrugged it aside.

‘The old fool,’ he said. ‘It is time he was dead. You should make Walter

Reynolds your Archbishop of Canterbury. Why, there is a man who would work for you.’

‘I will,’ cried Edward, ‘as soon as Winchelsey is dead― and he cannot last much longer.’

‘If only he were in that position now.’ Even Gaveston was a little afraid of excommunication. Edward noticed that his friend’s appetite waned and that he had lost a little of his glowing health.

Isabella knew that the barons were getting together and would march against Edward. Oh God, she thought, if I but had a child, a boy who was heir to the throne! Then I do believe they would be ready to depose Edward and make my son the King and I his mother would be Regent, for the people love me and want to recompense me for the wrongs I have suffered through Edward. It was true.

They were ashamed of their King. That he should marry a Princess and neglect her for a foppish minion was disgraceful. They were ashamed of their English King. Yes, they would be with her and against her husband while he kept

Gaveston at his side.

Oh, for a child! How she yearned for one, prayed for one and exerted every wile she knew to lure Edward to her bed. There was one thing which could bring him there and that was duty and the thought that if she were once impregnated with his seed he could be left in peace.

Meanwhile Gaveston languished, and the King was distraught. If they had

been in London he would have had his physician at his friend’s bedside. He did the next best thing and sent for the finest doctor in the North, William de Bromtoft. Gaveston would recover, Edward was told. He needed rest.

‘I will give him a potion to make him sleep. It is rest he needs more than anything.’

And while Gaveston slept, Edward sat by his bedside until the Queen glided quietly into the bedchamber.

‘How fares he?’ she whispered.

‘He murmurs in his sleep.’

‘He is aware of you here. The doctor said he needs peace and rest. Leave

him, Edward. Let him sleep alone. He will best recover then.’

‘What if he should wake and want me?’

‘Then he will call for you. At this moment he is aware of you and it worries him that he cannot speak with you.’

At length Edward allowed himself to be led away. In his bedchamber the

Queen soothed him with a special posset women made in France to rouse their lovers’ ardour. She took him to her bed and with the help of her ministrations, her prayers and perhaps the posset, that night she became pregnant.

–――――――

Gaveston recovered. The spring had come and it could hardly be expected

that the barons would allow him to continue to flout them. The Lords Ordainers, those earls, barons and bishops who had drawn up the Ordinances for the reform of the realm met and sworn to defend them and for this reason, they were ready to march against the King, for by receiving Gaveston and restoring his

possessions Edward

had openly defied them. It was clear that he had to learn his lesson.

Lancaster, with his newly acquired power, was the most important of the

earls. He had his own private army. It was arranged that the earls and barons should organize tournaments in their castles where men prepared for war should muster. When they were ready, they would band together and march north until to where the King and Gaveston were living together. They would take

Gaveston prisoner and if the King objected, there would be nothing left but to take arms against Edward.

It was a dangerous situation and it was hoped that the King realized how

serious.

Edward did. To his great joy, Gaveston had completely recovered and there

was another reason for rejoicing. Isabella was with child.

Edward was delighted. None could say he had not done his duty. Fervently

he prayed that the child would be a boy.

It was May. Isabella had conceived in February and her condition was

beginning to be noticeable. The King with his entourage had come to Newcastle and there it was they heard the news that the hostile barons were approaching.

‘We must leave without delay!’ cried the King. ‘Where can we go? Oh

Perrot, what will happen to you if you fall into their hands?’

‘They will trump up some charge against me doubtless and have my head to

grace the Bridge.’

‘I beg of you, do not talk so. They shall all be hanged before I’d allow it.’

Gaveston said sadly: ‘Little King, would you be able to stop it?’

The Queen burst upon them. She was afraid for the child. She said: ‘Come,