Текст книги "The Follies of the King"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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let us not wait here. Let us get away without delay. If we go to Tynemouth we could take ship for Scarborough and that will give us time to think.’

‘Isabella is right,’ said Edward. ‘Let us go, Perrot.’

In due course, they arrived at Tynemouth and there Edward at once ordered

that a boat be made ready for them.

‘We will rest one night and be gone tomorrow. The tide will be right and

carry us to safety.’

Isabella returned to her bedchamber, leaving the friends together.

She wondered what the barons would do to Gaveston when they captured

him, for capture him they would in time.

She thought of his enemies and chiefly of Lancaster. She had quite a fancy for Lancaster and he for her. She had heard that his marriage was not a happy one. Alice de Lacy had brought him his earldoms of Lincoln and Salisbury but little happiness. She did not like her husband and made no secret of her feelings.

He shrugged her dislike aside and it was said took many mistresses. He was the most powerful baron in the country and Isabella was attracted by power. She could never love her husband. He was too weak and that streak in his nature which made him the doting slave of Gaveston nauseated her.

Lancaster would lead the barons against Gaveston and because Edward had

allied himself with his friend, that meant against Edward.

What a fool he was, this man to whom they had married her! Could he not

see that he was placing his throne in jeopardy? They were fools― both him and Gaveston. They seemed to be blind to where their folly was leading them. Why could not Gaveston have behaved with decorum? Why did they have to flout

their relationship so it was obvious to all? Why had Gaveston have to display his questionable wit and poke fun at men who were far more powerful than himself?

How had Edward become so utterly his slave?

Never mind. One day it would be different. If this child she carried was a boy―

She slept fitfully that night, for her sleep was troubled by dreams and vague stirrings throughout the castle; and in the morning she understood the reason for these disturbances.

When her women came to her for her toilette, she knew at once that

something was wrong.

‘You had better tell me without delay,’ she commanded grimly.

‘My lady, the King has left. He and the Earl of Cornwall were off before

dawn.’

She did not answer. she did not want the women to know how angry and

humiliated she felt.

She waited.

‘My lady, they say that the Earl of Lancaster is but a few miles from the

castle and marching this way― come, they say to take the Earl of Cornwall. The King was beset with anxiety and he and the Earl left without delay.’

So they had gone and left her to face his enemies. How she hated them―

Edward as much as Gaveston! What did Edward care for her, the wife who was about to bear his son? Nothing mattered to him as long as Gaveston was safe.

‘So,’ she said, ‘The Earl of Lancaster is close to the castle.’

‘Surrounding it with his men, some say, my lady.’

‘It is all they say and some say. You had better help me to dress. I must be ready for the King’s enemies when they call on me.’

How well she hid her seething anger! How dared he! What were they thinking, these servants? So this is how he treats his wife. He has no thought for her at all. All that matters to him is his lover, Gaveston. He should pay for this one day. Oh yes, one day the humiliation he had piled on her should be paid for in interest. One this child was born― and if it were a boy― Oh God, let it be a boy! Then Edward, her faithless husband, should beware.

She was dressed. The cold glitter behind her eyes if anything added to her beauty. She was maddened when she saw that glowing reflection, that

outstanding beauty which had set the minstrels singing at her father’s Court, because it had no effect on his husband. Why had they not married her to a man!

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I would hear what is happening.’

It was Lancaster who made her aware of that. The castle could offer no

resistance. Moreover the Queen was not sure that she wished it to.

Lancaster walked straight into the castle and when he learned that the King had flown with Gaveston during the night he asked for an audience with the Queen.

He bowed low and kissed her hand. His eyes told her that he thought she

was a remarkably beautiful woman and as such he did homage to her.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I beg you to forgive me for this intrusion.’

She smiled and thought: Why was Lancaster not the King? I should not have complained if he had been my husband. It could so easily have been so. His father had been a brother of Edward the First and he was therefore first cousin to Edward her husband. He was royal; he was powerful and rich; and he was fully a man.

‘Intrusion?’ she lifted her brows and turned her head towards the window

where she could see Lancaster’s private army was encamped about its walls. ‘It is a mind way of expressing it. Have you and your men taken the castle?’

‘My lady, while you are here, I would never allow that. We came for the

traitor Gaveston who has broken his word and returned to England and who is under excommunication.’

‘I would I could deliver him to you. He and the King left shortly before your arrival.’

‘So he has slipped through our fingers. Never fear. We shall catch up with them.’

‘The King is with him, my lord.’

Lancaster nodded gravely. ‘That is a pity, but if it is so, then must he take the consequences.’

‘What do you mean? Have you come against the King?’

“My lady, I have come to take Gaveston.’

‘And what if the King will not give him up?’

‘Then we must perforce take him even so.’

‘This could mean― war?’

‘War for a worthless adventurer? Nay, let us hope it will not come to that.

But we are determined to have Gaveston. So you did not leave with them.’

‘No.’ She could not hide the venom in her voice. ‘They did not think to save me from their pursuers. They thought only of themselves.’

‘There is no need for you to fear.’ He had taken a step toward her. ‘ I would protect you against all who would harm you.’

‘You are a good friend and cousin.’

‘My lady, I would serve you with my life. Depend upon this: no harm shall

come to you while I am near to protect you.’

‘Thank you, my lord Lancaster. In protecting me, it may well be that you

protect your future King.’

He smiled slowly. ‘Is that so, my lady? Then we should rejoice.’

‘Thank you, cousin.’

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I will rid you of Gaveston,’ he said. ‘I

promise you that he shall not live much longer to torment you.’

She gave him her hand. ‘I will remember that, cousin,’ she said.

He bowed and left her, his eyes lingering on her as though he found it

difficult to take them from her.

When he had gone, she listened to the sounds in the castle.

They were searching for evidence of where the pair had gone.

They would soon discover that they had left by sea. They must be calling at Scarborough. So Pembroke and Warenne were marching north and Lancaster

would march south.

Edward would have to deliver Gaveston to them or there would be civil war.

Thank God for the child. If it were only a boy, she could look forward to a future with excitement. She was heartily tired of Edward and it was more

humiliating because if he had cared for her she might have loved him. It would be hard to find a more handsome man. It was maddening and humiliating that he had left her to her fate in order to escape with Gaveston. How was he to know that his enemies would not regard themselves as hers too? Yet he had left her, pregnant as she was, to face them. What man worthy of the name would do that?

If she had a spark of affection for Edward it was over now.

She thought of Lancaster― if she had not been a queen, if she had not to

bear the King’s son― she had seen in his expression as he looked at her that he found her infinitely desirable.

He had a reputation for his affairs with women. It was understandable. He

had disliked Alice his wife and she, him. This had been a marriage of

convenience if ever there had been one. He had little to complain of, though. No doubt Alice had. It had brought him the earldoms of Lincoln and Salisbury.

What had it brought Alice? The Queen wondered about her and whether she had taken a lover.

If only― thought the Queen. How easy it would have been with a man like

Lancaster. He had shown her clearly that he would count himself fortunate if he beckoned to him. They would be discreet― but there was no discretion that

could save her from scandal. And she had the heirs to the throne to produce.

Isabella was a voluptuous woman but she was an even more ambitious one.

She wanted power through her children. She wanted to humiliate the man

who had humiliated her. Perhaps more than anything she wanted revenge.

–――――――

She was safe at Tyneside. Lancaster had promised her that no harm should

befall her. He would rid her of Gaveston, he had said. It was a promise which she knew he would do his best to keep. She felt at ease. Her women said that the child was certain to be a boy. The wise old goodies could tell by the way she carried it. She was careful of herself. Nothing must go wrong. She must produce a healthy child. And if by the time of its birth Lancaster had kept his word and rid her of Gaveston who knew what would result?

She must have more children. They would not be born in love, of course.

Never, never would she forgive Edward for his last insult. That he should leave her and their unborn child to his enemies was too much to be borne. How was he to know that his enemies might be her friends?

It was necessary, her women said, to take exercise. It could be bad for the child, so she took to walking in the fields and woods about the castle and it was here one day that she met the boy Thomeline. Poor wretched little orphan. He was half-naked and dirty and frightened and yet so desperate that he dared approach the Queen and beg for alms.

Her companions would have driven him away and she would have shrunk

from him but she hesitated. It might have been because of the child she carried that she was interested in children. She was not sure but there was something in the boy’s eyes which touched her unaccountably, for she was not a sentimental woman who brooded on the wrongs of others.

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘let the child speak. What would you have, boy?’

He answered, ‘I am hungry, Queen.’

‘Where is your father?’

‘Dead.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Dead too. The soldiers killed them. The Scots who came over the border.

They burned our cottage and took all we had.’

‘And they let you live?’

‘They didn’t find me. I was hiding in the bushes. They didn’t see me.’

‘Give this boy clothes and money to the value of six shillings and sixpence,’

she commanded.

‘My lady!’ cried her women. ‘He is a beggar with a beggar’s tales!’

‘He is a child,’ she answered, ‘and I believe him. Let it be done.’

The boy fell to his knees and kissed the hem of her gown.

She walked on, wondering at herself. There were many orphans in the

world. Why be upset by one?

But she was glad that the boy had stopped her. Then she was pleased that

she had acted as she had, for she heard the women talking together of her piety and good deeds. She must have the good opinion of her husband’s subjects.

When they turned from him they must look to her.

She thought a good deal about the boy and a few days later she wished to

know if her orders had been carried out regarding him and asked that he be brought to her.

He came in his new clothes and he stood before her staring at her in

wonderment.

‘Well boy,’ she said, ‘so you have eaten now and you have good clothes.’

His eyes filled with tears and he knelt and would have kissed her gown but she said: ‘Get up. Come and stand near me. Where do you sleep at nights?’

His eyes shown with pleasure. ‘There is an old hut. The Scots did not take the trouble to burn it. I found it. It offers shelter from the cold.’

She noticed how thin he was. He needed care. That much was obvious.

‘When I am gone from here,’ she said, ‘You could go hungry again.’

He nodded. Then he smiled: ‘But I shall always remember you. I shall never forget that I saw the Queen.’

‘When you are cold and hungry and bigger, stronger people turn you out of

the hut, you will forget me.’

‘I never will,’ he said fiercely.

‘You will always be my loyal subject then?’

‘I’d die for you, Queen.’

‘It was little I did,’ she said. ‘I would spend what I gave to you for ribbons on my waist.’

‘So should it be,’ said the boy, ‘for you are beautiful as no one ever was before you. You are a queen and an angel from heaven.’

She said: ‘So I am a queen to all but only an angel to you. I am going to

make you love me more, little Thomeline. You shall not again be hungry, nor sleep in the hut. How would you like to go to London? But how can you know?

You have no idea of what London is like, have you? I have an organist there. He is French and his name is Jean. He was a wife named Agnes. She longs for

children and could never have them. So I am going to give her a little boy and you a mother and father. How would you like that?’

‘Should I see you, Queen?’

‘It might well be that you would.’

‘Please, may I go?’

‘You shall go. You shall be well clothed and fed and taught many things.

You need good food, for you are not very strong. They will make you into a healthy boy.’

‘Will they want me as their boy?’

‘They will if I say they will.’

‘You can do anything, Queen,’ he said.

She had him bathed and dressed and she kept him with her awhile. She

enjoyed his adoration. It soothed the wound left by Edward’s desertion. The boy’s belief in her goodness and Lancaster’s obvious desire for her comforted her a good deal.

She had sent a messenger to her French organist, Jean, and his wife, Agnes, to tell them of the child’s coming and that she expected them to treat him as their own.

Then she sent him to London. He was reluctant to go, not because he did not want to, but because it meant leaving her. His life had taken on a bewildering turn― the orphan who had been obliged to fend for himself was now regularly fed; he was taking lessons. Now and then he sat with the Queen.

So when he must leave her, he was filled with sadness and although she too was sorry to see him go, she liked his feelings for her.

She marvelled at herself. She was not a soft and gentle woman. Perhaps it

was because she was going to have a child that she had concerned herself with Thomeline. And then his rapt adoration had been irresistible to her.

However there was a bond between them.

She thought: If the time came when I stood against Edward, there would be one of my loyal subjects.

‘Queen,’ he said, for she had liked him to address her thus and had never

stopped his doing so, ‘you have done everything for me. What can I do for you?’

She smiled at him gently. ‘Pray that I may have a healthy child― a boy who will love me even as you do.’

After he had gone, she thought what a pleasant interlude that had been.

–――――――

Edward and Gaveston had reached Scarsborough.

‘We could do no better than stop here,’ said Edward, and Gaveston agreed

with him.’

Scarsborough indeed provided a ideal refuge. As its name implied it was a

fortified rock. Above the bay rose a high and steep promontory on the highest point of which stood the castle. It had been built in the reign of King Stephen and Edward the First had often held splendid court there for it was easily accessible being a port, and from its harbour, ships were constantly coming and going in various directions. It was a castle in which to shelter and from which it might be possible to escape should that be necessary.

‘We shall be safe here, dear friend,’ said Edward, but he knew that their

refuge would be temporary and after they had rested from their journey and lay talking together they agreed that they could not hope to rest peacefully for very long.

In fact the day after their arrival, they discovered that the garrison manning the castle, although not openly disloyal to the King, were talking together of what they must do if the barons attempted to take the castle.

Rumours persisted that Lancaster and his men were on the way.

‘What can we do?’ cried Edward. ‘Do you think we can hold the castle?’

‘For a time, mayhap,’ replied Gaveston.

‘If I could gather together a force―’

‘You cannot do that here, my lord.’

‘Nay. But I am the king. I could rally men to my banner. They would

support the King. They do not like Lancaster. Do you think they would follow Pembroke or Warenne? Do you think the mad dog could raise an army against

us?’

‘They could,’ replied Gaveston. ‘But they might not if you had an army―

loyal men who supported the crown.’

‘Then I shall leave here. I shall go to York first. I shall gather together an army and then I shall come to Scarsborough and rescue you. You must hold out until I come.’

For a rare unselfish moment, Gaveston thought of what the King was

proposing to do. He would gather an army in order to oppose Lancaster and

those who came to take him, Gaveston. For his friend, the King was proposing to plunge into civil war.

He should stop him. This could lose Edward his crown. But where should

they go? Fly together? It was impossible. No, the only way was for Edward to defy the barons, to stand with his friend, to say to them: You have banished Gaveston, but I have taken him back. I have reinstated him and I am the King.

Yes, it was the only way.

‘I will do everything I can to hold out until you return with your army,’ said Gaveston.

‘Then, beloved friend, I must needs say goodbye at once.’

‘We shall meet again, dear lord. One day we will show these dreary barons

who is King. You and I will show them, Edward― together.’

‘Together,’ said Edward, ‘always together until the end of our days.’

–――――――

Gaveston’s enemies were at the castle gates. The garrison were offering but a weak resistance and it was becoming clear with every passing hour that they had no heart for the fight.

Gaveston tried to bestir himself but he felt defeated. How could the King

rally an army and reach him in time? His servants disliked him. He had never bothered to cultivate their friendship. In fact, he had never given a thought to anyone but himself. The King had adored him as much as he adored himself,

and there had seemed no need to placate anyone in the old days. Everything he wanted was his, give to him by his doting King.

And now the King was absent, there was no one whom he could really trust.

He noticed a marked change in the attitude of his servants. There was a

certain veiled insolence and he judged their opinion of his chances by their manner towards him. Of course, there was always the possibility that the King might rally his army and return to save him, so they dared not go too far. It was for this reason that they did as much as they were doing.

How long could he hold out? What stores were in the castle? Out there,

Pembroke and Warenne appeared to have settled down to wait . Doubtless

before long they would be joined by Lancaster. His better enemies― all of

them.

One of his servants asked leave to enter the room where he was

disconsolately sitting.

‘It is a messenger from the armies outside, my lord. he is asking if you will receive the Earl of Pembroke who would speak with you.’

‘What! Let him come in to the castle. Pembroke!’

‘He would come alone and unarmed, my lord. It is to speak with you― to

make terms.’

‘I will see him,’ said Gaveston. ‘He is a man who prides himself on his

honor. That is why they send him, I’ll swear.’

Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, confronted Gaveston. He was the son

to Henry the Third’s half-brother― a third son but his brothers had died during his father’s lifetime and he had succeeded to the title. His royal connections, his great title, his wealth and power had made him a force in the country; but he was a man who prided himself on keeping his word. If was a favorite maxim of his that honour and Pembroke were synonymous.

He looked at Gaveston with dislike. He had not forgiven him for the defeat at the Wallingford joust and he knew that because he was dark-haired, pallid, and his nose was inclined to be hooked, Gaveston had delighted in referring to him as Joseph the Jew. Since the banishment of the Jews by Edward the First, the epithet was even less complimentary than it had been before. Gaveston

guessed Pembroke bore grudges.

Pembroke came straight to the point. ‘The castle is surrounded. We can take it with ease. It may be that you prefer to surrender quietly.’

‘Why should I? The King is on his way with an army to rescue me.’

‘You cannot think that men would rally to the King to save you. There is not a man in England more loathed. I can tell you that.’

‘The King is confident in raising an army.’

“Then the King lives in a dream. He will never raise an army to save you,

Gaveston.’

‘There are loyal men in England.’

‘Loyal to England but not to a Gascon adventurer.’

‘Do you forget you speak to the Earl of Cornwall?’

‘I know full well to whom I speak. Come, man, be sensible. Do you want to

surrender with dignity or be taken by force?’

Gaveston was silent for a few moments. It was true what Pembroke was

saying. It would be a simple matter to take the castle. They would seize him ignobly, perhaps put him in chains. Pembroke was an honorable man. He knew that such an act might bring about civil war and he did not want to fight against the King. His quarrel was not with Edward but with Gaveston. But he would act if need be. Warenne would not hesitate to treat him with indignity for Warenne more than any had never forgiven him for the Wallingford joust.

Gaveston knew that this might be his only chance to make terms. He came

to a quick decision. ‘If I surrender to you,’ he said, ‘it will be on condition that I am allowed to see the King and be given a fair trial.’

Pembroke hesitated. He thought it would be unwise for Gaveston and the

King to meet again. But Gaveston should have a free trial. He had no doubt that there was enough evidence against him to condemn him to death. He had run

from Tynemouth so hastily that he had left numerous possessions behind and among them were some of the crown jewels. He would declare that the King had given them to him but that would not save him. Moreover, he had been a traitor to England again and again. He had returned when he had been banished.

To take him now― easily― to bring him to trial, that would be a triumph.

Warenne had agreed with him that they wanted no bloodshed.

‘It shall be so,’ said Pembroke.

‘I have your word as a man of honour?’

‘You have it,’ was the answer.

Pembroke left the castle to report to Warenne what terms he had made.

–――――――

The journey south was slow. Gaveston was a prisoner and he knew it. He

rode between Pembroke and Warenne– and he was never allowed to be out of

the sight of one of them. At night, guards slept outside his door.

Each day he waited for a sign from the King. He looked for evidence that his army was approaching. None came. Then he told himself to be sensible. Who

would fight for the sake of Gaveston? Englishmen wanted the King to give up his friend and live normally with his beautiful Queen.

At length they came to Northampton and on a June evening they arrived at

the town of Deddington, close to the Thames, and here they decided they would rest.

Pembroke with Warenne selected a house in the town and there Gaveston

should spend the night well guarded.

They themselves rode on to a castle which was a few miles away where they

knew a welcome would be awaiting them.

A terrible sense of foreboding had come over Gaveston. It was more than a

month since he had become their prisoner and very soon his trial would be

taking place. He had not seen the King and he wondered what Edward was

doing now. That he had failed to raise an army was clear. Did he know what these men were doing to his beloved friend?

Sleep did not come easily, and he longed for it. The only time he was at

peace was when he could slip into his dreams. Then he would be back in the past with Edward beside him, feeding him the sweetmeats of power, showing

him in a hundred ways that none other than his Perrot meant anything to him.

Sometimes his dreams would take the form of nightmare. His enemies would be surrounding him and at the head of them would be one with a face like a dog―

a mad dog foaming at the mouth, jaws slavering, trying to leap at his throat. Of them all, he feared Warwick. Pembroke was a man of honour, proud of his

royalty, his good name. Not so Warwick. He was the most ruthless of the

barons. Then there was Lancaster who hated him and who had, so he heard,

promised the Queen that he would destroy the man she hated more than any in the kingdom– himself.

Perhaps he and Edward had not considered the Queen as they should. She

had seemed so unimportant. Edward had admitted that he found times spent

with her irksome because they took him from his beloved, and he had not

hidden this from her. She had displayed an unnatural quiet which might be

perhaps a smouldering resentment. She had inspired Lancaster with a

determination to destroy him, for Lancaster it was said was half in love with her.

The Queen was in his dreams, her beautiful face a mask of resignation

concealing her true emotions. Odd that he should think of that now.

We should have paid more attention to the Queen. That thought kept going round and round in his head. It was absurd. What could a woman do? Women

perhaps were more dangerous than some men because they acted in a more

mysterious manner. Hatred was obvious in the dark eyes of Joseph the Jew and Lancaster’s scheming face and the foaming lips of Mad Dog Warwick. But how could he know what schemes were planned behind the beautiful face of Isabella the Fair?

He was awakened from an uneasy dream. There were noises below. He

heard the shouts of the guards and then silence. He started up but before he could rise the door was opened and figures from his dream were at his bedside.

Warwick, the Mad Dog, was looking down at him.

‘So, my fine fellow, we have you, eh?’ he said.

Gaveston looked up at that cruel dark face, noticed the spittle about the thin lips and said with an attempt at his usual cynicism: ‘So the Mad Hound of

Arden has come to Deddington Rectory.’

‘Aye!’ cried Warwick. ‘He is here. He is taking you where you belong.

Beware lest he take you by the throat and kill you.’

‘You cannot touch me. I have the word of the Earl of Pembroke. I am to

have a free trial and I am to see the King.’

‘Since when has the Earl of Pembroke given orders to Warwick? Get up. Or

we will take you as you are― naked. The dungeons of Warwick are not made

for comfort. Be wise and dress warmly. If you can do it quickly, you may still have time.’

‘I protest―’

‘Take him as he is then,’ cried Warwick. ‘The pretty boy likes us to see

himself as nature made him. He fancies he is prettier that way than in the finest garments. It may be, Gaveston, but we are not of a nature to admire. Get up. Or I will call my guards.’

Gaveston reached for his clothes and under the eyes of Warwick, hastily

dressed.

About his neck he wore a chain set with jewels and there were several rings on his fingers. They were all he had brought with him from Scarborough.

Warwick noticed them. ‘The chain was a gift from the French King to our

King,’ he said. ‘The rings are royal too, are they not? How you love jewels, pretty boy. Crown jewels preferred. You stole them from the Treasury.’

‘I did not. I did not. The King gave me― everything―’

‘Ah, he did so. His honour, his people’s regard and mayhap his kingdom.

Guards. Take him.’

‘You will have to answer to the Earl of Pembroke. He had given me his

word.’

‘Leave the Earl of Pembroke to me. You should be concerned with

yourself.’

As he stepped out into the night air, he knew where they were going and a

terrible despair filled his heart.

–――――――

When Pembroke arrived at the rectory to prepare to continue his journey he was horrified to hear that Warwick taken his prisoner away.

‘This is unpardonable,’ he cried. ‘I have given my word for Gaveston’s safe conduct. This is a slight on my honour.’

He was in a quandary, for he had sworn to the King that no harm should

befall Gaveston and he had pledged his lands on this.

Little could have been more dangerous for Gaveston to fall into the hands of Warwick; and Pembroke knew that if anything happened to the favourite the

King would be so mad with grief and that he would insist on Pembroke’s being stripped of his lands.

He appealed to Warwick who laughed at him and declared that Gaveston

was his prisoner and was remaining so. Lancaster, Hereford and Arundel were on their way to Warwick where they would decide Gaveston’s fate.

Frantically Pembroke sought out the young Earl of Gloucester, for the

King’s sister, Joanna, was his mother. Gloucester had been neutral in the affair of Gaveston: Margaret was Gaveston’s wife. Poor Margaret, wife to such a man was an empty title and she had long ceased to admire him, which at the time of her marriage, when she was very young, she had done because he was so pretty.

But when she had learned of his true nature, her feelings had changed. Yet at the same time Gaveston had become a member of the family and families usually

clung together, though Glouchester had not come out in Gaveston’s favour

because the favourite had offended him on one occasion by calling him

Whoreson– a derogatory reference to his mother, the Princess Joanna, who had married old Gloucester and almost immediately after his death had turned to Ralph de Monthermer and secretly married him.

Gaveston had been very sure of himself in those days. He was a reckless

fool, like a gorgeous dragonfly revelling in the sun of royal favour, never pausing to consider that the baronial clouds could rise and cover it.

Gloucester shrugged aside Pembroke’s suggestion that they should band

together and storm Warwick Castle to rescue the favorite.

‘You cannot expect me to go to war for Gaveston!’ he cried, aghast.

‘The King would be on our side.’