The Follies of the King Page 10

  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, f
or 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.