The Follies of the King (16 page)

‘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.