The Follies of the King (24 page)

No, there was no hope of help from Louis.

Isabella must stand on her own, and now she knew that Lancaster was a weak man, she would have to look for other support if ever she was going to save herself from the humiliation the King had made her suffer.

But she would never forget.

In the meantime the more children she had the higher her hopes. Desperately she needed a son.

That was why she made herself charming to Edward, and he, obtuse as he was, believed her attitude towards him meant that she cared for him.

* * *

The Queen was pregnant and, though the King was pleased with this, and when the Queen rode out through London the people cheered her, their resentment against him was growing.

It was the old trouble— King against barons, and there was always the danger that this would break out into civil war. Only a strong King could keep the barons at bay and Edward was scarcely that.

What had angered him most about Lancaster’s high-handed manner was the fact that he had succeeded in robbing him of his friends. The departure he most regretted was that of Hugh le Despenser. Despenser, a man of more than fifty years, had served Edward the First well and he had been ready to the same for his son. At Edward’s coronation he had carried part of the royal insignia and from that time had shown himself to be the King’s man.

When the barons had stood against dear Perrot, Hugh le Despenser had been the only one of them who had given him his support. That was something Edward would always remember.

Of course a great many cruel things had been said against him at the time.

They said he was avaricious and that he thought by currying favour of the King and his favourites he would be well rewarded. They were strong, those barons, and they dismissed him from the council.

But there was something very resilient about Hugh. It was not long before he was back. The King was delighted to see him and presented him with the castles of Marlborough and Devizes. When Gaveston was murdered it was Hugh who was beside the King, trying to offer that comfort which no one could really give. Hugh understood perfectly and the King was fond of him.

They used to talk a great deal together. Hugh hated Lancaster.

‘Forgive my anger, my lord,’ said Hugh, ‘for I speak of your cousin, but I would I might challenge him to combat. With what joy would I run my sword through that arrogant body.’

‘Ah, Hugh,’ replied the King, ‘you are a true friend to me. And God knows, I have little left to me. When Perrot was alive―’

Then he would tell Hugh about the wonderful life they had had together and the King found he could laugh again over the wit of Piers Gaveston with someone who could understand it.

Then Bannockburn where Hugh had been with the army in the débâcle and afterwards, when Lancaster was saying who and who should not serve him, Hugh was one of those who were dismissed.

‘To be a King and not a King,’ mourned Edward. ‘I would be happier as one of my poorest subjects.’

Hugh le Despenser had a son named Hugh like himself. Young Hugh was a most beautiful young man― one who came as near to Perrot in that respect as anyone could come in the King’s eyes, and young Hugh had now become his chamberlain.

Strangely enough he had been sent by Lancaster, for this beautiful youth had allied himself, against his father, to the barons.

It was a pleasure to talk to him, for he was amusing and gay. He was light-hearted, cheerful and whenever he was given a present he would be so delighted that it gave Edward great pleasure to bestow gifts on him.

Isabella had watched the King’s growing absorption in young Hugh le Despenser with increasing irritation.

It is going to be Gaveston all over again,
she thought.
Why was I married to a creature like this?

There were times when she had difficulty in controlling her fury. She hated Edward; yet she was tied to him. She longed for a strong and passionate man, someone who would work with her, who was ambitious and above all, aware of all she had to give. Yet here she was married to one whom she considered only half a man, but he happened to be a king and as she wanted power as much as adoration and affection she had to walk very carefully. If this child she carried was a son, she would have made another step forward. She must have sons.

She saw what was happening so clearly. She understood these people around her as Edward never could.

The elder Hugh le Despenser had sent his son to the barons. The artful old schemer! She understood it might well be because he thought one of them should be in either camp. ‘You, my son,’ she was sure he had said, ‘will go to the barons and support them, while I stand beside the King. Then whichever way the tide turns one of us will be in the safe ship. Our estates will be saved and it should not be impossible for the winner to rescue the loser.’

Sound reasoning and worthy of the wily old Despenser.

Then bumbling Lancaster had stepped in. Young Hugh was a presentable fellow, one who could well find favour with the King. Let him go into the royal household, keep his eyes open and report anything worthy of note to his masters. He should make a good spy for the Lancastrian party.

Clever! no doubt Lancaster thought.

Old fool,
thought Isabella.
It can’t be long before even Lancaster sees what he has done.

And to think that she had once thought of throwing in her lot with him! Oh, how clever she was to wait, to play her game cautiously!

She would have a few more children by Edward— and there must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were royal children— and then they would see.

In the early part of August she returned to Eltham Place there to await the birth of her child and to her great joy on the fifteenth of that month a boy was born.

There was great rejoicing and the child was christened John.

He was known as John of Eltham.

* * *

There was another year of famine. Rain had fallen continuously throughout the summer; the fields were marshlands and the crops once more were ruined.

The people declared that it was not the French who were cursed, but the English.

‘This would never have happened in Great Edward’s day,’ was the constant comment.
He
would never have allowed his people to suffer. He would have done something. He would never have let the Scots beat him. He had been a great King. And what had they now?

There were jokes about the King’s relationship with pretty Gaveston. Did they remember all that money which was spent on making a fine tomb for him at Langley? Such extravagance while the people went hungry.

There was something wrong with England as events were proving and they must look to their King for the reason.

Then John Drydas appeared.

He was the son of a tanner from Powderham and all his life people had commented on his long legs, his flaxen hair and his likeness to the King.

People used to nod and wink and say that if Edward the First had not been a moral man, never known to stray from his marriage bed, it would have been almost a certainty that John of Powderham was the result of some rural royal frolic.

The likeness was uncanny.

John of Powderham was a dreamer. He used to fancy that he was the son of the King. When famine struck Powderham he used to sit on the green with the villagers gathered round him and tell them what he would do if he were king. He would see that the people were fed; he would have prayers said in churches, he would have prayers and offerings made to the saints that they might intercede with God to shut off the rain and bring out the sun. There was so much he would do if he were king.

‘Tis a pity you’m not the King, John Drydas,’ said his friends. ‘You’m wasted tanning skins.’

He began to think that he was. Ever since he was a boy he had been interested in the King for the likeness had been evident from early days. Some said that one of the King’s ancestors might have fathered a son on some country wench years ago and the likeness had come through in her descendants. Faithful husbands Henry the Third and Edward the First could certainly not be blamed.

But the royal streak was there.

When the story of the changeling had been spread about it had been of the utmost interest to John of Powderham. He had talked of nothing else for days.

Then the idea had come to him. ‘It were like a dream,’ he said, ‘and yet t’were not a dream. It was some fancy I had of long ago― I were lying in a room all silks and velvets― I remember it hazy-like― like there be a mist between me and that day.’

His friends urged him to try and remember. And it was amazing how the visions kept coming to him.

‘Of course I were a very young baby,’ he told them. ‘But a baby has these flashes of memory like, I do believe.’

The village was excited. It was rarely there was so much to talk about and it was a relief from the continual discussions of poverty and hardship.

Then one day as his admirers sat in a circle about him he told them that he was in truth the son of King Edward the First and therefore their King.

He was beginning to remember. One night while he was sleeping in his magnificent cradle, men came and carried him away. He was too young to know what was happening to him and his first memories after that were of the tanner’s cottage. It was perfectly dear. The man who called himself Edward the Second was a changeling. It was clear enough was it not? Look what had happened when he went to Scotland. Look at the life he had led with the wicked Gaveston.

Was that what could be expected from the son of Edward the First? Everything he did pointed to the fact that he was not his father’s son.

He looked very like him,
pointed out some.

‘He is tall and fair-haired. There are many men tall and fair-haired. What of me then? Do I not look the spitting image of him?’

They had to admit this was so.

‘What will ‘ee do about it, John?’ asked the miller.

‘I reckon I ought to do some’at,’ said John.

‘You should go around the country, telling people you be the true King.’

‘Yes, maybe that’s what I should do.’

John of Powderham was a little apprehensive. It was all very well to proclaim himself the true King in his own village. Going round the country telling others was a different matter.

But his friends were determined.

They had to put a stop to the present state of affairs as soon as possible.

They wanted a real King to rule them and to see John Drydas, standing his full height with his yellow hair thrown back and his long shapely legs― Well, if that wasn’t the dead image of Great King Edward they didn’t know what was.

* * *

The Queen said: ‘This after the changeling story is too much. Every tall fair-haired man in the country will be setting himself up as the King. You have to make an example of this one, Edward.’

Edward agreed with her. He had talked over the matter with Hugh who had actually seen the man.

‘He is handsome enough,’ was Hugh’s comment. ‘Tall and fair. And he certainly has a look of the late King and yourself. But what a difference! The poor creature has no grace, no charm. He is an uncouth yokel.’

‘What do you expect him to be?’ demanded Isabella tartly, ‘brought up by a tanner! I doubt you, my lord, would be as charming and graceful if you had been brought up in a hovel instead of the ancestral home of the Despensers.’

Hugh tittered sycophantically. They were beginning to hate each other. In due course, thought Hugh, he would not have to placate her. It would be the other way round.

The Queen said: ‘I do believe this man should not be treated lightly.’

Edward looked at Hugh.
Oh God,
prayed Isabella,
let me keep my temper.

This is going to be darling Perrot all over again.

Hugh was not completely sure of his position, so he said quickly: ‘There is much in what you say, my lady.’

‘Poor fellow,’ said Edward, ‘I doubt he means any harm.’

‘He is only helping to make you more unpopular than you already are.’

Edward said petulantly: ‘The people are so tiresome. Am I to blame for the weather?’

‘They won’t blame you for the weather,’ said the Queen, ‘but for doing nothing to combat the effects of it. They don’t realize that Lancaster rules them now― not their King.’

She was not going to argue with them. If the King liked to be lenient with this man, let him. His folly was leading him to disaster fast enough.

She left the two friends together. Now they would put their pretty heads together and talk of the past. Hugh must be sick to death of hearing of the talents and virtues of
Darling
Perrot.

But John of Powderham was not allowed to go free. He was arrested and imprisoned. He was given a chance to bring forward proof which might substantiate his claims to be the son of the King.

Of course, the poor fellow could do nothing of the sort. But he insisted on his claim. He knew it had happened the way he had said. What more proof did they want than the character of the present King.