The Follies of the King

BELOVED PERROT

THE old King was dying. There, in the little village of Burgh-on-Sands where he was in sight of the Solway Firth beyond which lay the land he had planned to conquer, he had come to the end of a long life of endeavour and triumph. He had brought his country out of the pit of disaster into which the ill rule of a demoniacal grandfather and a weak father had led it, and he had made England a proud country again. His ancestors, chief of them that great William who had become known as The Conqueror, would be proud of him.

But God had seen fit to take him before his work was completed. He had done much but not enough. He had known he had been inspired and he would become a legend. His enemies quailed before him and wherever Edward had ridden into battle, that aura of invincibility had gone with him.

But God had seen fit to take him before his work was completed. He had done much but not enough. He had known he had been inspired and he would become a legend. His enemies quailed before him and wherever Edward had ridden into battle, that aura of invincibility had gone with him.

‘When I am dead,’ he said to his son, ‘let my bones be placed in a hammock and carried before the army that the enemy may know that I am there in spirit.’

Young Edward was paying little attention. There was one subject which occupied his mind.

Perrot! He was thinking. My dearest, my beloved, my incomparable Perrot, when the old man is gone, the first act of my reign shall be to bring you back to me.

He was vaguely aware that his father was babbling on about sending his heart to the Holy Land with a hundred knights who should serve there for a year and was wondering how soon he could dispatch a messenger. Perrot would be waiting. For so long it had seemed that the King was near to death.

He had, in fact, lived for sixty-eight years, which was a long span. But Edward had always seemed different from other men. Some of his subjects believed that he was immortal and he had appeared to have that notion of himself― until now.

The old man was uncanny. He had always had a gift for reading the thoughts of those about him. Even lying there, with death at his elbow, when he should be thinking of facing his Maker, he gave his son a shrewd look and said: ‘Never recall Piers Gaveston without the consent of the nation.’

Uncanny! Yes, as though he knew that the tall, handsome young man at his bedside— so like the young man he himself had once been but only as far as his appearance was concerned— was not thinking of his dying father but of his dear friend Piers Gaveston, his Perrot.

‘Yes, Father,’ he said meekly, for he saw no point in arguing on a matter which he was determined was to be his first act on gaining authority. In any case the old King would be unable to prevent it when he was dead.

And as he stood by the deathbed he knew that his father despaired of him and the country’s future, yet all the young Edward could think of was: ‘Soon my dear Perrot, you shall come to me.’

Then the end was very close. The old King lay back, whispering of his faith in God— and soon he was dead.

Now men were looking at the young King with that awed respect they showed to the crown. He was his father’s son and therefore they must give him allegiance.

A great triumph came to Edward. A new reign had begun.

His reign.

‘My lord,’ they said, and knelt before him. They kissed his hand, those barons who had (on more than one occasion!) proved they could give less than absolute loyalty to their King. He must be wary of them. He must not show them just yet how different life was going to be. There must be no more of this obsession with Scotland for one thing. He hated the place. He longed for Westminster, Windsor and the south.

He was already planning to leave an army up here and return to London― but he would have to go carefully. He fully realized that. Lincoln, Warwick and his uncle Lancaster had too high an opinion of themselves and on account of his youth they wanted to guide him. He would let them believe they were succeeding― just at first.

Reynolds was different. Reynolds was his friend, and always had been, ever since he had come into his personal household. Perrot had liked him and Reynolds had joined their exploits and very often had given a spice to them, which even Perrot had admired. Reynolds secretly laughed at authority— particularly had he mocked the traditions which the old King had been so eager to maintain. They had found great excitement in flouting authority. Often, when he was merely Prince Edward, he had wondered why his father had allowed Reynolds into his household and, when he had raised the matter with his intimate cronies, Reynolds had explained rather dryly that even the most virtuous of men, upright, just and honoured though they might be, at times they found it necessary to transact little matters which must be performed in secret if the aura of honour, justice and nobility was to be maintained. Then they turned to those who would serve them in certain capacities― and keep their mouths shut. Reynolds’s talk was always full of innuendoes. Even Perrot had been fascinated by it.

Reynolds was a priest, which made it all so much more amusing, but he was very good at theatricals; he knew where to find the best musicians and liked to dress up and act himself. They had had good times together, and when the King had reproved his son for his extravagances and cut off his allowance, it was Walter Reynolds who had contrived to have him supplied with what were called household necessities and which turned out to be a new set of kettle drums or a case full of fine materials for making costumes.

Walter Reynolds was his friend; they had mourned together when Perrot had been sent away. It was Walter who had slyly whispered that it might not be for long by the look of things and had nodded and winked and pranced about as though he were following a funeral bier.

Walter was a vulgar man. But young Edward liked vulgar men. His sisters and his parents had never understood why he preferred the company of his servants to that of noblemen.

There were exceptions of course. There was Perrot who was full of court graces. None could dance as he could. None looked so beautiful or loved fine garments more. But even he was not royal― only the son of a Gascon knight whom the King had favoured because he had done him some service.

‘Walter,’ he said when the man appeared before him, ‘it is time for action.’

‘What are your wishes, O King?’ replied Walter, smiling that sly secret smile of his.

‘They will be leaving with my father’s body ere long.’

‘True, my lord. And you must needs remain here with your army and that grieves you, I’ll swear.’

‘It’ll not be for long. I must make a show of carrying out my father’s wishes.’

Walter nodded grimly.

‘But I shall soon be in Westminster.’

‘What mean you, lord King? To leave garrisons here as your father did?’

Edward nodded. ‘It is all I will do, and it is enough. With all his fine battles what has my father won? Here we are facing the Scots as he was years ago. It’s a lost battle, Walter, and I have had enough of it.’

‘Yet, my lord, your uncle Lancaster―’

‘That man’s a fool. I shall soon show him that. But I sent for you, Walter, and I think you guess why.’

Walter nodded laughing.

‘I am to go south― with all speed. I am to send a messenger to France―’

‘That is it. Tell my dear Gaveston that he must come back to me. Tell him the King commands him― without delay.’

‘Aye, my King. I’ll tell him. I’ll warrant he is all ready to leave. He’ll be waiting the signal. Depend upon it. He’ll be all eagerness to kneel to his King, mark my words.’

‘And no more eager than his King to touch his dear face.’

‘I’ll tell him that, my lord. I’ll tell him that. And now my lord King, with your permission, all speed to Perrot Gaveston.’

It was good to be riding south. He had done his duty. He had directed the army— his army now, he thought with a smirk— to Falkirk and Cumnock, though he had not exactly led it after his father’s fashion. He had directed it from the rear— far safer, more comfortable and suited to a man who believed there was something rather ridiculous and pointless to war. He had, it was true, received the oaths of fealty from one or two of the Scottish lords, and then he had decreed that it was safe enough to leave Scotland well garrisoned and return to London.

There was his father’s funeral to be attended to and that followed by his own coronation and his marriage― he would have to marry soon now. He was already betrothed to Isabella daughter of the King of France who was to be the most beautiful princess in Europe.

‘Princesses are always beautiful,’ Perrot had said. ‘And is it not odd that their beauty grows in proportion to their royalty and their endowments?’

‘It would seem that Isabella is richly endowed,’ he had replied, ‘for reports of her beauty come from all quarters.’

Perrot had shrugged his shoulders. He performed that gesture with more grace than any other man.

‘She will take you from me,’ he said quietly, almost petulantly.

‘She never shall,’ Edward had declared. ‘No one on earth could do that.’

Perrot pretended not to be reassured but he was. He knew― they both knew― that the affection they gave to any would never rival that which they gave each other.

He was smiling, thinking of Perrot, and his cousin Thomas, Earl of Lancaster who was riding beside him murmured that he trusted would be no perfidy from the Scots.

‘Ah, the Scots.’ replied Edward with a yawn, ‘a tiresome race― you ever try their oatmeal porridge, Tom?’

Thomas said that he had tried and loathed it.

‘Good Thomas, I agree with you. Let us thank God that we have turned our backs on the bleak inhospitable land.’

‘Tis natural enough to be inhospitable to unwanted guests, my lord.’

Edward laughed. ‘You speak truth there. Let us go where we are wanted. I wonder what sort of welcome the people of London will show me?’

‘A grand one, I’ll warrant. You are the son of your father and looking at you, my lord, none could doubt it.’

‘Nay, my sainted mother was never one to stray from the marriage bed though my father did desert her often enough for his wars.’

‘She followed him in battle, my lord, and was never far behind.’

‘Ah, battle― battle. His life was one long battle.’

‘A great King, my lord.’

‘Don’t say it in that way, Tom. I forbid it.’

‘In what way, my lord?’

‘In a we’ll-never-see-the-like-of-him-again kind of way. I tell you this, his son has no intention of being his father’s shadow and the sooner you and the rest realize that, the better.’

‘I doubt those close to you expect it,’ retorted Thomas.

‘Then that is well. Now we must give the old man a worthy send-off. I’ll plan it myself. Gaveston will help me.’

‘Gaveston, my lord?’

Edward looked slyly at his cousin. ‘Piers Gaveston. You know him well.’

‘But he―’

‘Will be awaiting me on my return to Westminster, I believe.’

‘It was the King’s wish―’

‘That King is dead, cousin.’

‘It was his wish―’ Thomas’s face was serious. Thomas gave himself airs, believing himself to be as royal as Edward and so he was in a way, although not in the line of succession. He was the eldest son of Edward’s father’s brother Edmund, first cousin to the King and because his father had died while Thomas was a minor in the King’s care, he had become the Earl of Lancaster, Leicester and Derby. Weighty titles which allied with royalty had given Thomas a high opinion of himself. No wonder he thought he could be on familiar terms with a king.

‘I repeat, cousin,’ said Edward firmly, ‘that King is dead. This one now riding beside you lives.’

‘Aye, ‘tis so,’ replied Thomas noncommittally.

They would learn, thought Edward smiling.

‘You’re glum, Thomas,’ went on the King. ‘Think you Richmond and Pembroke will not look after the affairs of the border?’

‘The late King had planned to do battle. Robert the Bruce has returned.’

‘I have told you, Thomas, that we will not discuss the late King, except it be the matter of his obsequies. We will make our way to Waltham where he lies and then take him to Westminster. He shall have a funeral worthy of him Methinks he would wish to lie beside his father. He loved him dearly. I remember well the stories he told us of our grandfather.’

‘The King was always a family man.’

‘He was a paragon of virtues to those whom he favoured. There are some who would consider him less so. But― I will not speak ill of the dead. Death sanctifies. Even those who failed to gain respect in life can do so often enough in death. So my father whose stature was great in life will become a giant in death. Therefore, good Thomas, we will bury him with such pomp as will satisfy the people of London.’

“You will remember his request that his bones should march with his army.’

‘I remember it, cousin.’

The King rode forward ahead of Lancaster. He was in no mood for further conversation. He was thinking of reaching London, of his father’s funeral, of his own coronation. Gaveston would be there.

The journey to Waltham lasted two weeks and every day the King chafed against the delay. Now he must make the solemn entry to London and there his father must be laid to Abbey of Westminster. It must be a grand funeral. The people would expect it. He could imagine the old man’s wrath if he were looking down on the scene. So much good money wasted, money which might have gone into armaments to wage war on the Scots and keep the rebellious Welsh in control.

Such a great King! Greater dead than he was alive. He had enemies then. He always had to be watchful of the barons who had been given a high opinion of themselves since Magna Carta. Old Longshanks knew how to keep them in order, but even the mighty fail in due course. In the coffin lay the remains of a once great King, whose very bones— so he thought― would strike terror into an enemy. Nothing but bones!

And here he was in London, the capital. His capital now. He loved the city.

It had been a custom of his to wander with Perrot through it incognito, to mingle with the crowds, to take on the roles of noblemen, merchants, strolling players― just as the mood took them. His disguise had never been easy to achieve. He was so tall and flaxen-haired and so like his father that he could be easily recognized. It had been a special challenge and how he and Perrot would congratulate each other if they came through a nightly adventure identity in intact!

Edward sometimes wished he had not been born his father’s son. To wander down the Chepe over the uneven stones where the kennels running down the middle were often choked with refuse, past the wooden houses, shops and stalls with their signs and lanterns swinging on straw ropes, that was adventure. To drink a flagon of ale in the Mermaid or Mitre Taverns, to mingle with merchants and beggars, milkmaids and moneychangers, honest traders and those bent on nefarious traffic— that was living and he and Perrot, with a few well chosen companions escaped to it when they felt in the mood to do so. They had been happy days of adventure and pleasure.

And afterwards― to wash the grime of the streets from their hands and faces, to throw off their humble garments, to dress in silks and brocades and fine jewels and perhaps call the players to perform for them, that was pure pleasure.

There was a great deal of fun to be had and Perrot knew how to make the most of it. Perrot could act and dance better than anyone else.

As ever his thoughts came back to Perrot.

And so to Westminster, there to make arrangements for his father’s funeral.

Lancaster had been right. The people were ready to give him a royal welcome.

He was so like his father, who was making rapid progress towards sainthood.

People were talking of his just good rule which a few years before had been called harsh and cruel.

‘Edward has not left us,’ they said, ‘but he lives on in his son.’

A few very old men remembered when the old King had come from his crusade in the Holy Land to be crowned King of England. Towering above other men because of those long Norman legs which had given him the affectionate nickname of Longshanks, he came with a beautiful wife who had followed him romantically to the Holy Land that she might not be separated from him. So Edward I had come in as a romantic hero and had gone out as a saint, his glorious deeds remembered, his misdeeds forgotten.

So the people loved his son. They welcomed him. They wanted to see him crowned; they wanted him to have a beautiful bride.

Well that must come.

He would have preferred not to marry, but he had always had known it would be required of him. Perrot and he had discussed it often. Isabella— the most beautiful girl in Europe― royal, well endowed, daughter of the King of France. Everyone would approve of that.

He began to laugh suddenly. If he married, Perrot should have a bride too.

Why not? He pictured Perrot’s face when he put that proposition to him.

To the Palace of Westminster then which had been so beloved by his grandparents who had refurbished it, spent a fortune on it and had added exquisite murals and painted ceilings. Perrot liked it. It was here that he had talked of his ambitions.

‘You are a prince,’ he had said, ‘the heir to the throne and I am but a humble knight. It bemeans you to be my friend.’

For the moment Edward had been stunned. Perrot who was always so sure of himself! Perrot who walked like a king and who could, by a show of displeasure, reduce Edward to humility. He could see nothing bemeaning to him. He could only be grateful to God for giving him such a friend.

Then it came out. Perrot had wanted honours. ‘So that I can stand beside my friend― not as an equal― none in this realm can be that― but worthy of him,’

he had explained.

He had wanted Ponthieu. ‘Ask the King. Tell him you think some honour should be given me. Tell him what a good friend I have always been to you.’

Edward, who wanted above all things to please his friend, felt uneasy. He knew that their enemies looked askance at their friendship. Some of them had whispered to the King that it was not good for the Prince to be so often with Piers Gaveston.

He had seen the wistful look in Perrot’s eyes. Perrot wanted to be an equal of those others about him. Lancaster and Lincoln treated him as though he were some higher servant.

Wanting to show Perrot what he would do for him, he had actually asked his father for Ponthieu.

What a scene there had been! The old man had turned scarlet in the face.

The Plantagenet temper which had haunted the family since the days of Henry II was ready to flare into being. They had all had it. In Edward I, it had been largely held in check. In King John, it had run so wild that he would have a man’s eyes plucked out or his ears or nose cut off simply for having aroused it.

Well, he, Edward, had seen it in his father’s eyes when he had asked for Ponthieu for Perrot.

All his father’s fears for the future, all his dissatisfaction with his son was there in that moment when he seized him by the hair and had even pulled out some by its roots.

Edward touched his head now remembering. It was still sore from the attack.

In it had been all his father’s resentments, his dislike of his son’s way of life, his longing for a son who, would follow him to battle and of whom he would have made a king to match himself.

It had been a mistake. It had resulted in Perrot’s banishment. Perrot and he had slipped up there. Edward had been lenient with his daughter’s misdemeanours. When his sister Joanna had been alive, she had twisted her father round her finger many times. But she had been a girl, and the King had doted on his daughters. But his son had failed to give him what he wanted. He cried out for a brave son who would go to war and bring Scotland to the crown; and fate had give him Edward, who was handsome but not in a manly way, who was clever enough but lazy, who had no taste for battle an liked better to frivol with his giddy companions, roistering in the streets, or playing music and dancing and lavishing time and attention on his players. Edward’s little half-brother, Thomas and Edmund, fruit of the King’s second marriage were as yet too young to show what they would be.

So― his coronation, then his marriage― but first there must be his father’s burial.

The casket which would hold the dead King’s body being prepared. It was simple, as the King would have wished and made of black Purbeck stone. It was not to be sealed for they would have to make a show of carrying out his orders which were that his bones be carried in a hammock before the army when it marched against the Scots. Every two years, according to his orders, the tomb was to be opened, and the wax of the cerecloth renewed. His tomb should not be sealed until complete victory over Scotland was achieved.

They would do it of course. They were afraid to do anything else. Dead Edward was as terrifying as living Edward had been.

There was a light tap on the door and one of Edward’s attendants looked in.

He seemed apprehensive. The King started up as the messenger bowed low.

‘My lord, a man awaits without. He says to tell you to be prepared for grave news.’

‘Grave news! What news? Who is this man?’

‘He will tell you himself, my lord. Those were his orders. Will you see him?’

‘Send him to me without delay.’

He was frowning. Grave news! What now? He wanted nothing― nothing but news of Perrot.

The door opened. The messenger was back. He bowed low. ‘Come in, my lord,’ he said. ‘The King will see you.’

Into the room came a figure wrapped up in an all-concealing cloak. The messenger stepped backwards, bowed and shut the door on them.

‘Who are you?’ cried the King. ‘Why do you come in this way―’

The cloak was flung off and, as it fell to the floor, Edward gave a cry of great joy and flung himself into the arms of his visitor.

‘Perrot! Perrot?’ he cried, ‘Oh, you villain― to hold yourself back from me even for those moments― This joy has been delayed.’

‘That my beloved King might find it all the more precious.’

‘Oh Perrot, Perrot, if you but knew what it has been like without you.’

‘I know that full well, my beloved lord. Have I not been without you? But it is all over now. We are together again and you are the King. You are the master now, sweet friend. That old man delayed his departure too long but at last he has gone.’

‘Oh Perrot, what joy! What joy! You came with all speed then.’

‘I was ready awaiting the signal. I had news that your father was nearing the end. As soon as I saw your messenger, I knew. I was ready and waiting.’

‘Let me look at you, sweet Perrot. You are a little different. What is it? You long dark clever eyes. No. Your dark curling hair, your rather arrogant nose, your laughing mouth― no it is not these.’

‘It is this silk robe. Where have you seen silk like this? I must show you the cotehardies I have brought with me. You will be amazed. What a becoming garment. I promise you, you will love it.’

‘Talk not to me of clothes, Perrot. What care I for clothes? You rogue, you, to talk of grave news― a messenger― from afar. How could you keep me from this bliss even for a moment?’

‘Pardon, sweet lord. It was a mischief in me. I had suffered so―’

‘Forget it. Forget it. You are back., How long has it seemed without you.

You teased me then. You always did. How I missed your teasing. I am surrounded by these dreary lords. They depress me. They compare me with my father―’

‘You are incomparable.’

‘Oh Perrot, my love. I thought I should die when you went away.’

‘Thank God you did not. For how could I have lived without you? It would have been a greater tragedy for Perrot to be robbed of his Edward than for England to lose her King.’

They were incoherent in the joy of their reunion.

‘Let us savor this,’ said Edward. ‘Tomorrow we will talk of many things.’

Lancaster burst into the apartments of the Earl of Warwick and seeing his expression, Warwick immediately dismissed all those who were in attendance on him.

‘By God, Warwick,’ cried Lancaster. ‘ Have you heard the news?’

‘Nay, my lord, and if your looks express your feelings, I fear the worst.’

‘He is back. That low-born traitor to the realm, the King’s evil-genius.’

‘Gaveston?’

‘Who else? By God, we should have had his head were he left in banishment.’

‘I think that the King’s father would not have said nay to such an act. Had he thought his son would break his word to him, Gaveston would not have lived to bring trouble back to our country. But ‘tis no use brooding on what might have been. He’s with the King, I’ll swear.’

‘Has been with him since the moment of his return. They’ll not be parted. It sickens me to see him there. The King will have him at his side, at his table, in his bed. He swears he’ll never let him go again.’

‘The King will have to learn that he rules by the will of barons. Even his great grandfather must have learned that lesson in the end.’

‘I see trouble, Warwick.’

‘Where Gaveston is, there will be trouble. So it was when the King was but his father’s heir. But Edward is King now. The people will support him― for a time.’

‘You mean we must do nothing to bring about Gaveston’s banishment?’

‘I think we should tread warily. Let us see what comes from his return. The King dotes on him and the people are with the King. They always are in a new reign. It seems likely that Gaveston will make such great demands and Edward doubtless grant them that the people will see for themselves what a menace this man is. They will not like the relationship between them. So what we must do at this time, my friend, is wait.’

Lancaster was disappointed. He wanted immediate action. He was noted for his impulsiveness and he was not an especially wise man. But for the fact that he was the grandson of a king, he would have been insignificant, so reasoned Warwick.

So he was eager to impress on Lancaster that they must act with care. That the new King was self-willed was obvious, that he had perverted sexual tastes was another— well he was not the first king to have been afflicted in that way.

He could be a good king for all that. Edward was young. He had much to learn.

It was the task of his barons, who were eager to see peace and prosperity in the country, to bring him to understanding of his responsibilities.

‘So Gaveston is back,’ he mused, ‘though the late King banished him. We must accept that.’

‘Aye!’ cried Lancaster, ‘and the late King advised us and his son never to have him back.’

‘Young Edward is the ruler now, my lord. And he has commanded Gaveston to return.’

‘That he may shower gifts on him― lands, possessions, titles― It is going to be Henry the Third with his extravagant friends soaking up the country’s life blood all over again.’

‘They were his wife’s relations, and they were numerous. This is the King’s lover. Listen Lancaster, Edward must be married without delay. He recognizes the necessity to do so, I’ll swear. He has to give us an heir or two and they say young Isabella is something of a siren. Nay, my lord, let us do nothing rash. We will acquaint the leading barons of Gaveston’s return. We will have them on the alert, shall we say? We have to crown the King and when he is married to this beautiful girl― Oh come, Lancaster. He is young yet. His father was stern with him. He is now free. Let us give him a beautiful wife and a chance. It may well be that Gaveston will mean nothing to him within a few months.’

‘I think you take too facile a view of this, Warwick.’

‘That may well be. But there is little we can do as yet. He has sent for Gaveston and Gaveston has returned. Let us get the coronation over and the King married and then if―’

‘Yes,’ said Lancaster. ‘And then?’

‘Then, my lord, if Gaveston is a danger to the King and the country, we must find some means of disposing of him.’

Lancaster looked into the shrewd dark-skinned face of the Earl and nodded.

‘Perrot, they say I must marry and soon.’

They were walking in the gardens arm in arm. They had not been out of each other’s company since Gaveston’s return.

‘I know it. They seek to turn you away from me.’

‘Fools! It would be easier to conquer Scotland than do that.’

‘I had hoped that it would be an impossible task.’

‘Absolutely impossible, dear Gaveston.’

‘Well, you must perforce marry, get the wench with child and do your duty to your crown.’

‘Well, I will do it for them.’

‘They say she is a beautiful girl.’

‘They say― they say. As you once said before, she is the daughter of the King of France. My stepmother remembered her. Isabella was but a baby when Marguerite left France to marry my father. There is a tradition of beauty in that family. Her father is Philip le Beu and her aunt was so noted for her charms that my father dearly wanted to marry her and he got her sister, my stepmother, instead. Marguerite is not uncomely. Yes, I do think I shall have a beautiful wife.’

Gaveston pouted. ‘You talk thus to plague me.’

‘Never, Perrot. She will mean nothing to me. But I am the King and there certain duties I must submit to.’

‘Hateful duties.’

‘Dear Perrot, I know your feelings well. Do not imagine that I shall not compensate you. I have news for you. You will not long be plain Piers Gaveston, you know. What would you say to an earldom?’

‘I should say my gracious thanks, my lord; and my heart would rejoice― not in the earldom― others have those― but in the love of my lord which is beyond price, beyond assessment and means more to me than any titles or lands.’

‘It shall be an outward sign of my devotion, dearest brother.’

‘My brother indeed.’

When they were young in the royal schoolroom where Edward’s father had put young Piers out of gratitude to the boy’s father who had performed a service for him— they had instant liking to each other. That attraction had never wavered and the first thing of consequence Edward his young friend had been, ‘You are my brother.’

From then on they called each other ‘brother’ and still did so in of nostalgic tenderness.

‘Listen, Perrot. What earldom do you think? Nay, I’ll tell you. You are to be the Earl of Cornwall.’

Even Gaveston, growing accustomed to lavish gifts, could not believe his ears.

‘Cornwall! That is a royal title!’

‘Well, Perrot, do you not like it?’

‘My lord, what can I say?’

‘You can say you believe now that your King loves you. Come my lord earl, let us discover what manors, castles and lands are attached to your new title.’

Gaveston felt giddy with power. He was realizing that there need be no end to his good fortune. Edward was so besottedly in love with him that there was nothing he could not have. He could be King— for Edward would do anything to please him. The old barons would not like it. He would have to watch them.

Old fools most of them; they would have to learn that Gaveston could outwit them— with the King beside him. Edward would be called the King, but it would be Gaveston who would rule.

They had always resented him in the royal household― those scions of noble families. They had sneered at his low birth. He was the son of a Gascon knight whereas many them considered themselves as royal as the King. Some of them had in fact been royal. He had always felt a certain rapport with Edward’s sister Joanna— alas now dead. She had had an adventurous spirit and an eye for an attractive man. Not that Gaveston was her kind, but she appreciated his cleverness She herself had married Ralph Monthermer— one of the handsomest men at court and of humble birth— in spite the King’s wrath which she had had to face afterwards. So she could not very well despise his low birth. Nor to do her justice had she shown that she was aware of it. She had been a good companion until her sudden death— by far the most friendly towards him of any member of the royal family.

Now he was to be Earl of Cornwall. He was equal with any of them.

‘And, Perrot,’ went on the King, ‘as I am to have a bride so shall you.’

‘A bride, Edward. You are jesting.’

‘Oh no, sweet friend. Indeed I am not. Only the most noble bride is good enough for my Perrot so whom do you think have chosen for you?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Joanna’s girl— Margaret de Clare.’ Edward stood back a little to see the effect on his friend. Gaveston found it hard to hide the upsurge of delight. The girl was one of the richest in the country— and with strong royal connections too, since she was the King’s niece. This was indeed favour.

‘Well,’ went Edward, ‘what say you, Perrot?’

‘I would say that you are determined to honour me, sweet lord. I have no wish to take a wife but who could say no to being connected to his royal lord through marriage.’

‘She is young and you need see little of her. But she will bring you much wealth. I said to myself: Hugh le Despenser has her sister Eleanor, so my Perrot shall have Margaret. I long to tell the child of her good fortune.’

‘Let us hope she will consider it such.’

‘How could she fail to admire you? And if she is a dutiful niece she will love one whom her lord uncle and King cherishes.’

Gaveston was still stunned. He had expected favour but not quite as strong as this. Edward was certainly impulsive. There was no doubt that the barons would soon be made aware of his intentions, and there would be stern criticism.

‘We must make immediate plans for your marriage,’ went on the King. ‘I want it performed without delay, before our enemies can raise their objections.’

‘My clever friend thinks of everything.’

‘Where your welfare is concerned, Perrot, indeed I do.’

It was such pleasure to be together. They laughed immoderately at the effect his announcement was going to have on the ponderous barons..

Perrot amused himself by giving them nicknames. Thomas Lancaster, for whom he had the utmost contempt, was the Fiddler.

‘He should have been a fiddler,’ commented Gaveston. ‘Yes, he would have done very well fiddling his tunes. He could have played at country fairs. The rustics would have loved him.’

‘Perrot, you are talking of my cousin.’

‘It was a joke of the Almighty mayhap. Or perhaps He was saving up all perfections for the King’s son and so had none to spare for others. The one we have most to fear is the black hound of Arden. You know who I mean.’

‘I’ll guess Warwick.’

Gaveston nodded. ‘And as for old Burst Belly he counts not at all.’

‘You mean Lincoln. Oh, Perrot, you will kill me with laughing! Yes, if he gets much bigger he will certainly burst.’

It did him good to hear these mighty barons ridiculed. He could be afraid of the Earls of Lancaster and Lincoln— but not when he thought of them as Fiddler and Burst Belly.

‘I will tell you this, Edward,’ went on Gaveston, ‘these men are not one twentieth as valiant or as significant as they believe themselves to be. And we shall prove this to them.’

‘How?’ asked Edward.

‘We will begin by giving a tournament. I’ll gather together the best knights of France and England. All young― unknown. I can bring them here. Then we shall see these mighty brought low. How is that for a start?’

‘A tournament. I shall enjoy that. And you will be the finest of them all.’

‘Bless you, sweet friend. It is an honour I shall share with you.’

They laughed together, making plans. Everything, thought Edward, becomes interesting and amusing when Perrot is here.

On a cold October day the funeral of the King took place and his body was laid in the tomb prepared for him in Westminster Abbey. In the streets the people talked of his greatness but they were already thinking of the new reign.

Young Edward’s flaxen good looks so like his father’s endeared him to them but they were hearing whispers of the favorite Gaveston― against whom the barons were murmuring― and the first breath of uneasiness was beginning to touch them. There had never been scandal about the dead King; he had been an example to all fathers and husbands and as such had had a good effect on the country.

‘The new King is young, said the women, ‘and very good-looking. He is going to have a wife soon. Then he will settle down.’

The men said that the country’s troubles always sprang from foreigners, and Gaveston was a Gascon. Let the King send that creature packing as his father had done and all would be well.

But it was early days yet and the King’s popularly waned very little because of the first touch of scandal.

A few days later when Piers Gaveston was married to the King’s niece Margaret de Clare the uneasiness increased. The barons were very sullen, disapproving strongly of this marriage. The King though had said it should be, and one hopeful factor was that as Gaveston had a wife there might stop to the gossip about him and the King.

Young Margaret, who was only a child, thought her bridegroom the prettiest creature she had ever seen, so she was not at all displeased with her marriage and he spent so little time with her that she said it was scarcely like being married at all.

Perrot lay stretched out on the King’s bed and Edward watched him with admiration. He was as graceful as a cat and as dignified as a king should be but was not always.

Gaveston was pleased with himself. He was at last becoming the most important man in the kingdom, for whatever he wanted, he must have― his wish was Edward’s.

They had been talking about Walter Langton whom they both referred to as that old enemy.

‘It seems to me an odd thing,’ Gaveston was saying, ‘that our old enemy holds his office of treasurer.’

‘Not for long, Perrot. No, not for long.’

‘Methinks he has held it long enough. ‘Tis my belief, and one which I know my dearest liege lord shares, that those who have been good friends to us― to you, dear boy― should be rewarded and those who have been our enemies made to understand that their fortunes have taken a turn for the worse.’

‘I have been considering Langton,’ said Edward.

‘Then let us consider him now and let us not stop considering him until he is no longer in a position to annoy us.’

‘Turn him out,’ said Edward.

‘Precisely,’ replied Gaveston They laughed, recalling their skirmishes with Langton who had, unfortunately at the time, been in favour with Edward I.

‘Do you remember the time we broke into his wood?’ prompted Gaveston.

Edward did remember. There had been a great deal of trouble about that, and he recalled vividly his rage at the humiliation which been heaped on him at the time, for his father had been on the side of Langton over the affair.

It was characteristic that this man Langton whom young Edward had so hated should be favoured by his father. The old King had had such a high opinion of Walter Langton, and Lichfield, that he had made him his treasurer.

He would listen to his advice and often took it for he declared that the Bishop’s long experience was of great service to him.

Prompted by Gaveston, Edward had chosen Langton as a butt for his dislike.

As treasurer Langton was always questioning young Edward’s expenditure, nor was he averse to complaining to his father about it. It was galling that the old King took the treasurer’s side rather than that of his son and complained Gaveston, treated the Prince as an erring schoolboy in the presence of the Bishop which made that old hypocrite more determined than ever to spoil his pleasures.

It was Gaveston who pointed out that Reynolds could be of use to them.

‘That other Walter,’ as Gaveston called him. As treasurer of the wardrobe Walter Reynolds could contrive a little juggling over clothes which he was very willing to do. Indeed, Reynolds was very happy to put his scheming head together with that of Edward and his minion and laugh over ways of deceiving the King and Langton.

It was only natural that when Edward and Gaveston were riding near Walter Langton’s lands they should break into a wood of his and hunt the deer. They had not been without success and had just brought down a fine buck when Langton’s gamekeepers had come upon them, surrounded them and in spite of Edward’s protests that he was the Prince of Wales, had taken them, in a most humiliating fashion, to their master as though they were common poachers.

Moreover, even when he saw who the captives were, Langton had shown an equal lack of respect.

‘How dare you trespass on my land and steal my deer?’ he had demanded.

Edward had replied haughtily, ‘These lands come to you through my father’s grace. I am his heir and therefore claim the right to go where I will.’

Gaveston had nodded approvingly which gave Edward the courage he needed to stand up to the formidable old Bishop ‘You have not stepped into your father’s shoes yet!’ cried the Bishop, ‘and I pray God the time will be long before you do. Let us hope that when that time comes— and it could be a tragedy for the nation— you will have learned more sense.’

Now this had been more than Edward could endure and he began abusing Langton in somewhat coarse terms which seemed more amusing because they were addressed to a bishop and Gaveston had been looking on, convulsed with laughter.

‘I can tell you this,’ the Bishop had replied, ‘the King will not endure your frivolous behaviour, your extravagant dalliance with companions who are no good to you―’

Gaveston had smirked and mincing up to the Bishop had struck a mock pleading attitude which made Edward gasp with laughter.

The Bishop had turned a shade paler as he had said, ‘I shall report this matter to the King.’

‘Pray do,’ Edward had replied, ‘and I shall report him the insolence of a subject towards the King’s son.’

Langton had arrived first before the King. He had distraught and sorrowful and the King had been furious when he heard what had happened.

He sent for his son and the lights of the dangerous Plantagenet temper had been visible in his eyes. Young Edward was the one person who aroused that more than any other. The King’s voice could be heard through the palace and the things he said were very uncomplimentary to his son.

‘How dare you go into the Bishop’s woods? How dare you hunt his deer?

It’s a punishable offence. You know that.’

‘A King should hunt where he wishes,’ Edward had replied.

‘Remember this,’ thundered his father, ‘you are not yet a king. And I tell you there is considerable unease in this realm at the prospect of your becoming one. You will have to mend your ways or by God and all his angels, I will mend them for you.’

‘My lord, it is demeaning to our state―’

‘ It is demeaning. You are demeaning. You and your evil counsellors.’

Little darts of fear had entered Edward’s heart then. He had always been afraid when the King’s thoughts turned to Gaveston.

He had become quieter, more humble. He had listened to his father’s tirade when he was told that he was banished from court, he had bowed his head and accepted the exile. It had been irritating, but it would be simply dreadful if his father began blaming Perrot and decided to part them.

He guessed that when his father did banish Gaveston— a few months before his death— that this affair had first put the idea to do so in his head.

So now Perrot reminded him of the time they had broken into Langston’s wood he remembered not only the incident but the parting with Perrot which had followed and a great anger rose in him against Langton who had been one of their worst enemies.

‘And he remains your treasurer,’ pointed out Gaveston. ‘Dear friend, you are too good to that old rogue.’

‘Someone will have to replace him.’

‘But indeed it is so and there is our old friend, that other Walter. He is just waiting for his chance, and sweet Prince, why should he not have it?’

‘Reynolds!’ cried the King.

‘Who else? Has he not served us― you― well?’

‘You are right. It shall be. Who shall we send for first?’

‘Let’s have our Sport with the Bishop.’

Edward slapped his thigh with excitement. How different from when they had been taken to his presence like humble foresters. Now it was his turn.

‘Let’s tell Reynolds,’ said Gaveston. ‘We’ll hide him in the chamber and he can hear the great man receive his dismissal.’

‘You always think of the most amusing things, Perrot.’

‘It is my duty to amuse my lord. Sometimes I think my role is that of court jester.’

‘There never was a more handsome, witty and charming one― nor such a rich one.’

‘There’s truth in that, I’ll swear. Now to the fun.’

The Bishop received his dismissal with dignity. It was clear though that he would soon join up with Lancaster and Lincoln, Warwick and such malcontents who were already raising their eyebrows at the King’s preoccupation with Gaveston even though Gaveston had been recently married. He was rarely with his wife and that marriage had obviously been a means of bringing him a fortune.

‘I will be magnanimous, my lord,’ said the Bishop as he departing, ‘and ask God to help you.’

‘But, my dear Bishop,’ said Gaveston, ‘it is you who will need His help and I am sure that, seeing the pious life you have led, He will not deny it now.’

The Bishop ignored Gaveston. Poor Perrot, that angered him more than anything. He could not bear to be treated though he were of no importance.

Walter Reynolds came in, rubbing his hands together.

‘My lords, my lords, it was as good as one of our plays. You showed him the door, indeed you did. I’ll warrant the old prelate is trembling in his shoes.’

‘Methinks he was expecting it, Walter,’ said Perrot. ‘He could not hope to go on in office after all he has done to our gracious King.’

‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘what would you say if I set you in the old rogue’s shoes and made you my treasurer?’

Walter’s answer was to go down on his knees and kiss the King’s hand.

‘Walter,’ said Edward. ‘You deserve your honour. Serve me well and there will be more. I remember my friends.’

‘And must not forget your enemies, dear Prince,’ said Gaveston.

‘Nor shall I. It was good fun, was it not― seeing the old fellow brought low?’

‘Now we shall cease to be plagued and must think of others who have offended you.’

‘And of those who have been my friends. I intend they shall never regret it.’

‘This is a great day for those who long to serve you well, my lord. I shall let it be known that good and loyal friends had cause for happiness this day. Even our little drummer Francekin shall have a pair of kettle drums.’

‘That pleases me,’ said Gaveston. ‘Francekin is a good little nakerer and pretty withal.’

They were happy together making plans for the future.

The tournament had been planned to take place in the old town of Walingford which was situated in the Thames valley between Reading and Oxford. Gaveston had arranged it and to it he invited all the knights renowned for their chivalry.

Gaveston was smarting a little from the treatment he had received at the hands of some of the leading barons of the country― men such as Lancaster, Lincoln, Warwick, Surrey, Arundel and Hereford. They had their followers too, and they all showed clearly how much they deplored his friendship with the King. Moreover they were constantly stressing the lowness of his birth— a very sore point with Gaveston who considered himself their superior in every other way. They were never going to let him forget that he was the son of a humble Gascon knight while they belonged to the greatest families in the country. Many of them were royal or connected with royalty and they believed that the King should take his counsellors from their ranks instead of surrounding himself with minions of low birth.

Gaveston planned to teach them a lesson. He was going to show them that he could outshine them all in that display of chivalry which was considered to be at the very heart of good breeding. He was not only graceful on horseback but there were few who could handle a horse better. Edward said that when he watched Perrot on horseback he could believe he was some mythical creature, half-horse half-man, so well did he and the horse move together.

The days which preceded the tournament were full of excitement. Edward and Gaveston laughed together at the trick they were going to play on the arrogant barons. They were bringing into the country many young men from France who had not yet made their names but whose skill and vitality could, Gaveston was sure, outwit and overcome the proud barons at every turn. Perrot would lead them and the King would be seated under his canopy to watch the play and to present the trophies.

It was going to be a most exciting occasion.

On the appointed day people came from miles to see the contests. The roads were full of travellers with the usual company of beggars and pickpockets in their wake. Pennants fluttered from those pavilions in which knights donned their armour and waited to be called to the fight. They were beautiful, those pavilions, many made of double satin, the valences embroidered with their owner’s motto. The Royal Pavilioners and Sergeants of the Tents were busy all through the day preceding the tournament, setting them up and making sure they were not damaged. Merchants of London and the big cities vied with each other to obtain contracts for making and maintaining these pavilions. And a colourful sight they were.

When the King appeared there was a great shout of greeting from the people, for there was nothing they loved more than displays of this sort and the rumour had already been circulated that the King was at some variance with certain members of his court who did not like his friend Gaveston. They knew of course that the late King had banished the Gascon and that the new King had recalled him and given him, as well as a rich and royal bride, great honours.

The feeling had seeped out that the tournament in some way a contest between the King, who had his own idea of what a King’s duties should be, and those barons who wanted to impose their will on him.

As yet the outcome of this struggle seemed of little importance to the people. What they wanted to see was an exciting tournament and when the combatants emerged they would pick their favourites.

The King had taken his seat beneath the royal canopy and among his party was Margaret de Clare, his niece, the newly-married wife of Gaveston. As soon as the knights appeared in their splendid armour, her eyes sought her husband among them and as she recognized him, they shone with a pride which was matched by the King’s own obvious love for his friend.

Gaveston was chafing against the fact that he had been designated as one of the challengers, believing that he should have been greeted as a champion. Well, he was here to show these arrogant knights what he thought of them. He and his group of challengers were determined to inflict such defeat on them as would never forget.

His friends understood what was expected of them. They were young, vital and spoiling for the fight. Although the leading champions were here, some of them were not in the first flush of their youth, their limbs might well be stiffening a little and it was speed and agility which were needed in the fight― not arrogance and strains of royal blood.

It was a brilliant show. Edward knew that his Perrot was going to succeed.

There was an air of confidence about him and for days he had been complaining bitterly of the treatment he received from many scions of ancient houses.

They were going to be taught a lesson and Edward was longing to see it administered.

Edward made it clear that the tournament had been devised by the Earl of Cornwall (he and Gaveston had decided was the title by which he must be referred to from now on) for their pleasure and that it was a joust à Plaisance― which meant that it was purely for sport and that each lance would be fitted with its coronel— an iron head roughly shaped and with several blunt points which would prevent harm coming to the combatants. This was different from a joust à l’Outrance which meant that the contenders fought until one was forced to surrender and would surely be wounded― often severely— or even killed, for such jousts as these were fought with a sharp lance or spear.

Gaveston distinguished herself with great éclat. In a very short time he was tackling one of his greatest enemies the leader of the Champions, John Warenne, Earl of Surrey and Sussex. With great panache and with a certain malicious delight, he went into the fight. He had challenged Warenne because he knew that he was one of those who deplored the King’s friendship with him and had not hesitated to make his feelings known.

Warenne was a handsome young man just about twenty years of age. His father had died when he was six months old and he had not long before succeeded to his titles on the death of his grandfather. During the preceding year he had been married to the King’s niece, Joanna, the daughter of Edward’s eldest sister Eleanor and the Count of Bar, so he considered himself a member of the royal family through marriage. He was a proud young man and pleased to be connected with the King and on more than one occasion he had done his best to humiliate Gaveston.

He was noted for his skill in the joust and had become acknowledged champion of that art, and there could be no doubt that he was delighting in the opportunity offered him of humiliating the King’s dear friend. Gaveston was, of course, determined that it should be the other way round.

There were many who were aware during those tense moments that this was something more than a joust à Plaisance. The feeling that a great deal was at stake had permeated atmosphere and the tension was growing.

As the two men rode into the field and came at each other with their blunted lances the King leaned forward in his seat.

‘Go to it, Perrot,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Make Warenne grovel in the dust.’

They tilted, each highly skilled. Everyone knew that Warenne was a champion so it was Gaveston who surprised them the most. All the skill of the champion was his. That much was clear. The thunder of hoofs as they galloped towards at each other; the clash of steel as they met and then suddenly a cry went up. One of them was down.

The thundering of Edward’s heart matched that of the horse’s hoofs. A mist swam before his eyes so that he was not sure which was which.

‘Oh God, yes it is― it is―’ he murmured. ‘Warenne is down.’

What a moment of humiliation! What a moment of glory!

Warenne would never forget nor forgive this moment.

Defeated, he a champion, beaten by an upstart Gascon knight who owed his title to the King’s favour for questionable services performed.

Even Edward could not help feeling a little sorry for Warenne in that moment.

He had returned crestfallen to his pavilion, the roars of the crowd in his ears, hatred for Gaveston in his heart.

And then Arudnel.

Gaveston’s friends were warning him. ‘You cannot hope for your luck to continue,’ they said. ‘Leave Arundel to one of us.’

But Gaveston was drunk with success. He was supreme. He was sure of it.

He had staged this tournament that he might show these people that he was superior to them in every way and he was going to prove it. This was his triumph.

He knew that fortune was smiling on him that day. He was aware of the King’s burning gaze. He felt as though he had been born for this day. From henceforth these men who had set themselves against him should acknowledge their superior. The tournament was a symbol and they knew it.

And so to Arundel— Edmund Fitzalan who had recently married Warenne’s sister Alice. They were a close community, these noble lords. Arundel had behaved arrogantly to Gaveston. He was another one of those who resented the friendship with the King.

Ambition rode with Gaveston. Every bit of skill he had taken such pains to acquire must do him good service.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. He looked towards the canopy.

Gaveston knew his dear friend was watching, praying, hoping― Arundel was down. A silence, then the uproar.

Gaveston, no― the Earl of Cornwall― had proved himself to be the champion of champions.

Two of the greatest jousters of the times and both defeated! This was triumph indeed.

‘You have done it,’ said Walter Reynolds. ‘Rest on your laurels, Perrot. You have brought these two down.’

But Gaveston shook his head. ‘No, it shall be Hereford too. I’ll not rest until I have defeated the three of them.’

‘My dear lord, you tempt the fates.’

‘I have done that all my life, Walter. And today the fates are with me.’

There was no dissuading him and soon he was riding out to meet Hereford, proud Humphrey de Bohun, Constable of England, and another of those who considered himself part-royal because he was married to a sister of the King’s.

He was considered to be a great champion at the joust and his wife Elizabeth was seated under the royal canopy with her brother, the King.

Elizabeth would be praying for her husband; but the King’s thoughts, of course, would be all for his beloved Gaveston.

Gaveston felt like a legendary hero on that day. He knew he could not be beaten. Fortune was smiling on him. He, the son of a humble Gascon knight, was becoming the most important man in the realm.

Even as Hereford rode towards him, he knew.

And incredibly it happened. The mighty Earl, the champion jouster, was lying in the dust and the new champion Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, was riding round the field to come to rest before the King.

Edward could not hide his joy and pride. There were tears in his eyes.

‘My champion of champions!’ he murmured.

So the day ended in a resounding victory for Gaveston, a humiliating defeat for his enemies. The crowds were shouting Gaveston’s name and vying with each other to wear his colours.

Gaveston asked the King if his lord was pleased with the little entertainment he had devised for his amusement.

‘Dear Perrot,’ replied the King, I am more than delighted. But I see some black looks around here. Do you?’

They laughed together— intimate laughter, implying shared secrets.

‘My dear lord,’ said Gaveston’s young wife, ‘you were wonderful. There can never have been such a noble knight.’

‘Is that so?’ said Gaveston. He glanced at her briefly then turned to the King.

‘Magnificent Perrot,’ cried Edward, ‘I will come with you to your pavilion. I want to tell you of my special appreciation.’

Margaret was about to follow them when her husband turned to look at her.

There was that in his eyes which commanded her to stay where she was. She stood, disconsolate, looking after the King and her husband as they made their way to the most brilliantly luxurious of all the pavilions.

‘My lady,’ whispered Walter Reynolds who was standing by and had seen what had happened, ‘you cannot hope to come between such friends.’

Margaret looked as though she were about to burst into tears.

‘My lady is but a child,’ murmured Walter Reynolds.

The Earl of Warwick asked Margaret if he might escort her ‘It will be a pleasure to do so, dear lady, since your husband is engaged with the King.’

Gaveston looked round and saw Warwick with his wife. His voice, always resonant and clear, came to them as they stood there.

‘Look Edward. The mad hound is taking charge of my wife.’

Their laughter floated back to the group.

Warwick had flushed scarlet. He knew that people, instigated by Gaveston, called him the Mad Hound behind his back and it was true that he had an unfortunate habit of spitting as he spoke, which Gaveston called foaming at the mouth.

‘He may call me the mad Hound,’ muttered Warwick. ‘One day that mad hound will seize him and destroy him.’

How they rejoiced. How they laughed. Walter Reynolds said they must have a special play to celebrate the occasion. The arrogant nobility had been bitterly humiliated.

‘They say,’ commented Gaveston, ‘that Hereford, Arundel and Surrey will never get over it.’

‘I hope they will not try to take their revenge,’ commented Edward uneasily.

‘I would challenge them again tomorrow,’ boasted Gaveston.

‘Oh, but I did not mean at the joust. I fear they will put their heads together and talk against us.’

‘Men will always stander those of whom they are envious.’

‘Why they be envious? They are rich men and have all they want.’

‘They do not have your love, my lord, as I have it.’

‘They should know that is for one alone.’

‘We should be watchful, my lords,’ said Reynolds. ‘They are in conference with your cousin Lancaster and Warwick.’

‘I’ll warrant the mad hound is foaming at the mouth,’ cried Gaveston.

‘And that Lincoln strokes his fat belly and is taking a little more food and wine to comfort him.’

‘And Lancaster fiddles away to get them dancing to his tune.’

‘While our one-time champions lick their wounds.’

There was much laughter in the royal chamber and when the players came in they made little Francekin perform for them on his new kettle drums. Francekin was such a boy.

Then they gave themselves up to the pleasure of planning Christmas. How wonderful it would be to spend it together. Edward had a special cotehardie for his friend. It was set with the most valuable jewels he could find. How delighted Perrot would be with that. He could scarcely wait to give it to him.

He lay dreaming of the joy in store for his dear friend.

But Gaveston’s thoughts were on another prize.

‘You know, dearest boy,’ he said, ‘that you will soon have to go to France.’

Edward pouted. ‘Oh pray, Perrot, do not remind me it.’

‘You will not stay long, just long enough to pay your respects to the King of France and marry his daughter. Then you will return to your Perrot. But while you are away there must be a Regent. You will have to appoint him before you go.’

‘You know who that will be, Perrot— my cousin Lancaster.’

‘Old Fiddler! Oh no, that must not be.’

‘It will be only for a short time. I know he is stupid but there will be plenty around him to keep him in order.’

‘Dear lord, you know that I have beaten three so-called champions in combat. I have shown myself to be superior them, have I not?’

‘Indeed you have, Perrot.’

Gaveston seized the King’s arm. ‘Then give me this chance. Show your trust in me. Let me hold the power for you while you are away from these shores.

Only that can give me a crumb of comfort.’

‘Perrot! They would never agree―’

‘Why, my lord? Who would dare to disagree with the King?’

‘They will say that it should naturally go to Lancaster.’

‘Let them say what they will. It is for you to bestow the Regency on whomsoever you wish. And I venture to believe that you have more trust in me than in the Fiddler or Burst Belly or even the Mad Hound.’

‘By God’s ears, Perrot, I’ll do it.’

‘Oh my lord, my sweet lord.’

‘You are content then, Perrot?’

‘Content when my lord plans to leave me― even though it will be brief? It must be brief. How can I live without you? But I will take the Regency and I will say this is a symbol of his trust in me and believe me, dearest lord, it will not be the power which comes to me in which I shall delight but the knowledge of the trust my dear lord has in me.’

‘Oh Perrot, Perrot, I shall soon be back with you.’

Gaveston grimaced. ‘A husband. Fancy that, lord. You will come back with a wife.’

‘What you have, I shall have. Nothing more.’

‘Let us hope,’ said Gaveston gaily, ‘that our wives will be good friends and that their friendship will compensate them for their husband’s neglect.’

Gaveston was feeling intoxicated with power. He had not really believed it.

Surely Edward would have stopped at the Regency. It was clear though that there was no end to his infatuation.

This, said Gaveston to himself, is but a beginning.

The lords had met. Among them were Warwick and Lancaster and, still licking their wounds, Hereford, Sussex and Arundel.

They were incredulous.

‘It can’t be true,’ cried Arundel. ‘The Regency. This upstart. My God, Thomas, it should be you.’

‘I cannot think what madness has beset my cousin,’ said Lancaster. ‘I had naturally assumed that I should be the one.’

‘Gaveston,’ cried Hereford, ‘to be put above us all. This nobody. It’s a madness.’

It was Warwick who begged them to be calm.

‘He can do little harm. We shall see to that and It will not be long before the King returns.’

‘And if he attempts to rule the country― and us?’ asked Hereford.

‘We shall know how to deal with him,’ answered Warwick.

‘Nay, the King will return a husband. His bride is noted for her beauty.

Philip will have them married with great pomp and when the King has a beautiful wife he will grow away from Gaveston.’

‘Do you think he will ever grow away from Gaveston?’ asked Arundel.

Warwick’s dark eyes glowed suddenly. ‘If he does not, my lord, it will be our duty to see that Gaveston is removed.’

Removed. A good word. It covered so many meanings. That was what they were all thinking as they looked at Warwick.

Little flecks of foam were visible on his chin. The Mad Hound, Gaveston had called him. They remembered Warwick’s words. ‘He will find that the Mad Hound can destroy him.’ Perhaps it would not come to that. Who could say? Warwick was smiling almost blandly.

‘Give the King a beautiful wife. If anyone can change him, can take him away from this passion for Gaveston, Isabella can.’

There was a sense of relief in the room. Warwick was right. Edward was young yet. He was weak; easily influenced, and Gaveston, they all had to admit, was clever.

Marriage was the answer. Beautiful Isabella would save the King.

‘We must impress on the King that he should leave without delay,’ said Arundel.

‘So that,’ went on Lancaster, ‘on his return we can go ahead with plans for the coronation.’

They nodded.

They were convinced— most of them— that Isabella might well make a good husband and father of Edward, and so weaken and, hopefully, destroy the evil influence of Piers Gaveston.

THE QUEEN’S DISCOVERY

THESE were days for the Princess Isabella and she was gratified to be the centre of attention. They were all so pleased about the proposed match; and so was she― for she had heard her bridegroom-to-be was one of the most handsome in the world. She had never seen him but those who had assured her that there had been no exaggeration of his good looks.

‘He is tall,’ they said, ‘with flaxen hair. He is just like his father and he was known in his youth to be a fine-looking man. You will be a Queen,’ they went on. ‘Queen of England― think of that.’

She had thought about it and it pleased her. She patted her luxuriant curls and assured herself that she would be a good match for this handsome man, for she was an acknowledged beauty herself. She had seen even her father’s eyes soften at the sight of her and everyone knew what a ruthless man he was! He was the most powerful King in Europe and her mother had been a Queen in her own right before she had married, so no one could be more highly born than the Princess Isabella.

It was only to be expected that because of her outstanding beauty she would make a grand match.

Her brothers— Louis, who was always quarrelling, Philip, who was tall and aloof and Charles who was so good-looking that they were already calling him Le Bel, a title which in her father’s heyday had been given to him— were pleased with the match. So were her uncles Charles de Valois and Louis d’Evreux. In fact the uncles were to go to England when she and her bridegroom left for his country.

She was glad of that. It would make the parting less acute although of course she had always known that, as a Princess, she would have to leave her home one day. It was the fate of all princesses. It had not worried her unduly, and even though at this time she was barely sixteen years old she was prepared for what life would offer. Her strong-minded mother, who never forgot that she was the Queen of Navarre as well as France, and her ruthless father had endowed her with something of their own natures, and she was quite ready to hold her own position in whatever society she found herself.

She only had to see her reflection to receive assurance and if she could not have seen for herself in her mirror, the eyes of the men at her father’s court told her that without doubt was possessed of a rare attraction.

Five years previously she had been solemnly betrothed to Edward, Prince of Wales. This had taken place in Paris and she remembered it well. The Count of Savoy and the Earl of Lincoln had represented the Prince of Wales and her father had given his blessing and her hand to the heir of England. It had been a very impressive moment when she had placed her hand in that of Père Gill, the Archbishop of Narbonne, who had stood proxy for Edward. From that moment she had known that as soon as she was old enough she would become Edward’s wife. Since then she had tried to learn all she could about Edward. She had discovered that he often disobeyed father and she was amused. Her father had talked of the King of England as that wily old lion and gave the impression he did not by any means love him, although he respected him.

‘We must always be watchful of the old lion,’ he had said, and he was always delighted when the Welsh and the Scots gave his rival trouble. But he was eager for this marriage and so it seemed was the old King of England.

Her mother had explained it to her. ‘Alliances such as you will make with the Prince of Wales are a safeguard of peace. And when you are Queen of England, never forget France.’

She had sworn she never would.

It was comforting too that her aunt Marguerite was the Dowager Queen of England. She was coming to France for the wedding. Jeanne, Isabella’s mother, often talked of Marguerite.

‘Your aunt is a good woman, Isabella. She was happy with the old King.

Marguerite is such a meek and docile woman that she would believe she was happy as long as her husband did not ill-treat her or too blatantly consort with other women. The King of England was a faithful husband and that is considered rare. Therefore your aunt was a very happy wife. She has said so often.’

Isabella was well aware of the story of her aunts. She could just remember beautiful Aunt Blanche who had married into Germany and died soon after.

They had thought that Blanche would marry the King of England at one time— at least the King of England had thought it, but Philip le Bel had had other ideas for his sister and had tricked Edward into taking Marguerite. Isabella reflected that her father could be very wily. She admired him for it, although she supposed some would call it dishonourable.

Isabella had always been a girl to keep her eyes and ears open. She liked to sit at her father’s table— and he liked her to be there because he was proud of her beauty— and she would be alert, listening to talk. It was gratifying to learn that she was the daughter of the most feared man in Europe.

They still called him that although it scarcely fitted now. She had heard that when he had come to the throne at the age of seventeen he had been so handsome that women found it difficult to take their eyes from him. He had a cold nature though and rarely any warmth showed. Sometimes she thought he admired her because she had inherited so many of his characteristics— the most obvious being beauty. He no longer possessed his— he had grown too fat and florid― but if he had lost his looks he had gained in power. Some said he was the most ruthless man in Europe. He was cold, harsh and calculating and the more power he achieved, the more he wanted; and he had few scruples when it came to attaining it. That he was vindictive and completely without mercy was well known. It was one of the reasons why he was so feared. He sought not only to rule France but the whole world and even that did not seem to him an impossible dream.

Isabella knew how pleased he was that Edward of England was kept busy with his border rebels. Of all men, the King of France feared the King of England and Edward’s obsession to bring Wales and Scotland under the English crown was as great as Philip’s dream of complete domination. Edward had died without achieving this success and there was no doubt that her father had looked upon Edward’s death as a happy augury for France.

She had heard him say. ‘This young cub, my son-in-law will give me no trouble. Or if he does, I shall know how to deal with him.’ Then seeing the look in his daughter’s eyes, he had become alert. He added: ‘My daughter will help me, I know, and she is going to be a power in that troublesome kingdom.’

It was flattery of course and a reminder. Never forget you are French, daughter. Always remember where your allegiance lies.

When a Princess married a King and became a Queen his country was hers, and it was to that, she would have thought to which she owed allegiance. But Isabella wondered whether she would ever owe allegiance to any but herself.

If this were so, she was following the teachings of her father. She had learned not so much through what he had said to her as by watching his actions.

She had lived through stirring years in the history of her country. She knew that her father had always tried to curb the power of Rome and how it infuriated him to realize that to many of his subjects the Pope stood above him and that they believed they owed first allegiance to the Church rather than to the State.

There had been a bitter quarrel with Pope Boniface who had dared say that if the King of France did not mend his ways he would be chastised and treated as a little boy. With this admonition had come the threat of excommunication and this was something all dreaded. A weaker man might have sought to placate, but Philip looked for revenge. He demanded that his subjects support him against the Church and so did they fear his ruthless revenge if they did not that most were ready to obey him. The rich Templars were one community which refused to do so.

Vindictive as he was, Philip vowed he would not forget this and although he never scrupled to break a promise if he saw an advantage in doing so, a vow such as this was he was determined to carry out.

He was a strong man, her father. Only fools would go against him. Even the Church should have considered before acting rashly. She admired him so much.

She was proud to be his daughter.

Philip had sent Guillaume de Nogaret, his trusted minister, to conspire with the Pope’s enemies against him. This he did so successfully that they captured Boniface in the town of Anagni and held him prisoner. He was rescued but that incident had impaired his health and his reason and he died soon after. A new pope was elected who was sponsored by the King of France. This was Benedict.

Isabella had glowed with pride at her father’s success. Men were right when they said that he was the most powerful man in the world Even the Popes must obey him. But the Pope was far away and Benedict must have forgotten his promises to the King of France which he had given in exchange for his support at the time of his election, for very soon he was talking of excommunicating any who had brought harm to his predecessor Boniface and wanted the matter of his imprisonment inquired into.

When the shadow of excommunication hung over her father, Isabella had shivered with fear and even he was downcast, dreading that the sentence might be carried out. It was not so much that he would fear to dwell in that unsanctified state as that his soldiers would believe themselves beaten before they went into battle and his ministers would have the idea that working with the King was working against God.

The King did not fly into tempers; his rages were cold and calculating and his revenge on those who displeased him could be terrible.

She been working at her embroidery one day when her mother had come to her and sat beside her.

“The King is in high spirits this day,’ she had commented. “The Pope is dead.” “Oh!” cried Isabella, ‘that is good news for France.’

“A foolish man,’ commented this Queen. ‘He thought to break his promises to your father.’

“Then he deserves to die,’ said Isabella. ‘He did not reign long as Pope. Was he an old man that he should die so soon?” The Queen smiled slowly. ‘Let us say that he was a greedy man. A basket of fresh figs was sent to him. He ate too many of them.” ‘Could he die through eating figs?’

‘This Pope did,’ said the Queen still smiling.

What rumours there were about that basket of figs! It was said that the Roman enemies of the Pope had had poison inserted into the luscious fruit before they had been sent to Benedict. It was even whispered that Guillaume de Nogaret had done it. But the chief suspect was one few dared name: the King of France.

Philip was certainly ready to seize the advantage and was determined that the next Pope should be his man. His choice fell on Bertrand de Goth, a man of great ambitions, and one who would be ready to do anything to gain his ends.

The very man for Pope. But what chance had the Archbishop of Bordeaux of reaching that mighty pinnacle? None without help of the most powerful man in Europe. And if he had that help?

‘Why should we not make a bargain,’ demanded the shrewd King of France.

A hard bargain it was but the Archbishop knew very well that it was his one hope of becoming Pope, and being the man he was he seized it. In a short time he had become Pope Clement V.

The papal resident had been moved from Rome to Avignon. This Pope was undoubtedly the King’s man.

Isabella knew that one of a ruler’s most urgent needs was for money. It was often the topic of conversation in intimate family circles. Subjects thought their rulers were possessed of inexhaustible coffers into which they had but to delve.

How different was the truth. Those coffers had to be filled and one of the main preoccupations was how to replenish them. Philip was like the rest in this. He had no alchemist’s secret of turning base metal into gold. So he must look about for other means.

He had hated the Templars since they had opposed him and the desire for revenge on them had been festering in his mind for some time. He would have taken that revenge before had he not been so immersed in papal affairs. Now he saw a means of satisfying two cravings at the same time. He could gain a great deal of money while taking revenge.

About two years before when there had been riots in Paris, he had been in danger and it had been necessary for him to seek a refuge. This had been offered to him by the Templars in the Temple Palace and during his stay there he had become aware of the amount of treasure which was stored in their vaults.

Isabella had heard a great deal about the Knights Templars― The Order of the Knights of the Temple of Jerusalem. They were a military religious order of knighthood which had been formed to protect the pilgrims to the Holy Land.

They had done good service during the Crusades and they had been maintained and rewarded in many countries and this had been the foundation of their great wealth.

Lately stories been circulated about the order. Being a rich and successful one, it had generated a great deal of envy. Isabella listened wide-eyed to the gossip. Her women talked of the Templars in hushed whispers while they assisted at her toilette.

The stories grew more and more outrageous.

“They have strange ceremonies. They have a Grand Master who is all- powerful. They say that what goes on at the initiation is too evil to be spoken of.’

‘But I wish to know,’ Isabella had said.

Glances were exchanged, reproving ones. ‘These things should not be spoken of before the Princess. ‘They are not for my lady’s ears,’ said one.

Nothing could anger Isabella more. She wanted to hear everything and the more shocking the more necessary was it for her to hear about it. When her temper was aroused, she had been known to administer many a painful slap or nip.

‘You will tell me,’ she said.

There was moment’s hesitation but only a moment’s, for her attendants had learned it was unwise to offend their imperious mistress. One of them whispered: ‘They spit on the crucifix and deny God.’

‘What else?’ demanded Isabella.

‘They have to behave― indecently on the altar― with each other.’

Isabella wrinkled her brows trying to imagine what acts were performed and as she saw that some of her women had a notion of this she was loath to show her ignorance so she repeated: ‘What else?’

‘They make obscene images and they worship goats and cats. And there are indecent acts with animals. They kiss them― in all manner of places―’

This was easier to understand and Isabella stared round-eyed with wonder.

‘They have children,’ whispered one woman, ‘when they should not according to law have them. Then they seek to destroy them.’

‘How?’

‘They roast them alive over a pan into which the fat drips and this fat they smear over their idols. It is a sort of sacrifice― an offering.’

‘It makes me feel sick,’ said Isabella.

‘I know we should not have told you, my lady.’

‘When I command you to tell me you will tell me, but I do not believe knights would behave so.’

The women fell silent and then Isabella said: ‘But perhaps they do. My father hates them. He is going to make them sorry for these evil deeds.’

Then the women shivered for they knew some evil would befall the Knights Templars.

And they were right.

They were filling the prisons now; they were confessing their sins. There was only one way of dealing with such wickedness, declared the King. From the squares in Ile de la Cité, the smoke could be seen rising and in the air was the acrid smell of burning flesh. The persecution of the Templars was providing a rich haul, for when a Knight was condemned for his sins his treasures fell naturally into the hands of the King.

‘We must impress the English,’ he told Isabella, ‘and as my daughter you must have a dowry worthy of you. We must make much of your bridegroom when he comes to marry you because he is the King of England.’

She liked to gloat over her treasures with her attendants round her. Her father was true to his word. She was to be magnificently equipped and for this she must thank the Knights Templars for she knew she owed her rich possessions to them.

‘It was God’s will that I discovered their villainies at this time,’ commented the King with a wry smile. ‘And there is more to come.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee and the Princess smiled at him. Her brothers thought their father was very clever and so did she, but she hated the smell of burning flesh, which seemed to permeate the air. She would not think of it. After all, it was very wicked of them to burn their babies― even though they should never have had them in the first place― and rub their fat over their idols. That image haunted her, sickened her, so that she turned to her treasures and thought how much better it was for a beautiful young girl to think that they should be buried away in chests in some gloomy vault.

She had two golden crowns decorated with magnificent jewels and she knew that the jewels had been taken from the Templars’ store and her father had had them set into the golden crowns for her.

“Remember always, daughter, that you are my daughter. You will have a young husband who is not very serious-minded. You must always remember to make him the friend of France.’

“Oh, I will my lord, I will.’

‘Then you may have these, my child. See how pretty they are. Golden drinking vessels. Shall we wager that they came from the East? Those wicked men picked up many of their treasures there. And see here are silver cups to match. Remember me, dear child, when you drink from them and that you owe your good fortune to your father. Here are golden spoons and look at these porringers, all solid silver.’

‘They are beautiful, my lord.’

‘They are yours, child. Part of your dowry. I would not have your bridegroom think you go to him as a pauper. It is well that he should know the King of France is in a position to send his daughter to her husband in fitting manner. He must know that whether it be a daughter or an army, there is no lack of treasure to fit out what should be done in a costly manner.’

So many beautiful garments she had. There were eighteen dresses― all splendid colours and most becoming to her dark beauty― greens, blues and scarlets, all of the finest materials that man could devise. There were surcoats of satin and velvet. There were wimples and filets for her head and gorgets for her throat.

There were many costly furs to keep her warm in winter, some made into cloaks, some edging her gowns and others to use as coverlets for her bed at night. There was everything she would need, even tapestries to hang on her walls, for these had become fashionable in England since they had been brought in by the late King’s wife, Eleanor of Castile.

The time had come for her to leave for Boulogne, whither she was to travel with her parents and other members of the family. It was a brilliant cavalcade and she was at the heart of it, riding beside her father and her mother who were clearly proud of their beautiful daughter.

The princes and members of the nobility were led by her brother Louis, who was the King of Navarre, a title his mother had assigned to him, and like her father he impressed on her the need to remember that she was a daughter of France and that in her new life she must never forget it. She listened intently and assured them fervently that she would remember.

And in Boulogne, Edward was waiting for her. He was every bit as handsome as they had said. Her heart leaped with delight when she saw the flaxen hair stirred slightly by the breeze and the bluest eyes she had ever beheld.

Moreover, he was tall and held his head like the King he was.

Isabella had fallen in love at first sight with the King of England.

He was charming and courteous to her and her parents looked on at the young couple with unfeigned delight. Dear Aunt Marguerite, who herself had gone to England as a young girl to be the bride of the King, the present one’s father, was clearly moved. Aunt Marguerite was gentle and kind and she whispered that she hoped Isabella would be as happy in England as she had been. If there was a faintly apprehensive look in her eyes as she spoke, Isabella did not notice it.

She noticed nothing but Edward.

He took her hand and told her how enchanted he was by her beauty. He had heard word of it of course but it exceeded all expectations, and he eagerly awaited their marriage.

The preparations had been made with the utmost care, and the ceremony in the church of Notre Dame was most impressive. The handsome distinguished looks of the bridegroom, the fresh and startling beauty of the bride, were marvelled and to those who knew nothing of the King’s infatuation for Piers Gaveston it seemed the perfect match.

Isabella was one of those and she often thought afterwards that had she received some intimation of what she would have to expect she might have been able to handle the situation more wisely. For one thing she would never have allowed herself to fall in love.

Those were happy days— perhaps the happiest of her life. She loved the pomp and ceremony; she loved the homage to her beauty and her rank. In the church of Notre Dame she had become a Queen as well as a wife and Edward appeared to have fallen as deeply in love with her as she with him.

Edward was in fact chafing against his separation from Gaveston. He knew he must accept this because this marriage was necessary. Isabella was a beautiful girl and she was most enamoured of him so he was lucky for he might have had someone he could not take to at all. This beautiful daughter of the King of France must bear him a child and quickly. Both he and Perrot had agreed on that. He was glad therefore that she was not repulsive to him, and that he could, with some conviction, play the part of the devoted husband.

This he did and with such success that Isabella believed herself to be the happiest woman in France. Marriage suited her. She had always known it would. She had always liked to hear about her women’s love affairs. Now she understood so much that she never had before and she was going to have few regrets at leaving France because she was going to Edward’s country which she would rule with him.

She realized quickly that Edward was pliant as well as amiable and that delighted her. She believed he was the kind of man whom she could govern. He clearly wanted to please her. She must keep him thus.

She began to suspect that he was a little lazy. So much the better. She had energy enough for them both. He would discuss everything with her. They would work together but it would be her will which would be done.

Oh, she was deeply content in her marriage.

The King of France walked arm-in-arm with his son-in-law in the gardens of the palace.

‘It gives me the greatest pleasure,’ said Philip, ‘to see your happiness with my daughter.’

‘Your daughter is the most beautiful girl in France,’ replied Edward.

‘I see we were meant to agree.’ Philip gave his sly quiet smile. ‘It is a good augury for the future, my son, when France and England walk together in amity.’

‘There will be many in France and England who will rejoice at this time.’

‘My dear son, let us keep it so. Let us make a vow of friendship.’

They were both ready to swear to that for neither would be entirely scrupulous if the need arose to break a vow or two.

‘You have heard of the wicked doings of the Templars, I doubt not,’ went on Philip.

Edward replied that he had. It was difficult to be in France and not know that they were being arrested all over the country and put to the torture in castle dungeons where they admitted that they were guilty of the most horrifying crimes.

‘There can be no peace in countries where such wickedness is allowed to flourish.’

‘That must be so,’ agreed Edward.

‘What of those who have sought refuge in England? There are many of them.’

‘Oh, many of them.’

‘You must hunt them out. You must not allow them to pollute your country.’

‘Oh no, they shall not,’ replied Edward; he was not thinking of the Templars. He was wondering how Perrot was faring and whether he was having trouble with the barons who had been so jealous about the Regency.

‘Arrest them. Bring them to trial. Make them confess their abominations. It is the only way.’

‘Oh yes, the only way.’

‘Put them to the torture. Nothing is too fierce for them. You will wring the confessions from them. Then you confiscate their goods. They have managed to build up treasures, I can tell you.’

‘I am sure of it.’

‘Why should that wealth not be used in the service of the country?’

‘Why not indeed.’

‘I shall be interested to hear what comes of this.’

‘You shall be kept informed.’

The King of France looked satisfied. They went into the palace together.

‘I am glad you are of my opinion and that we are in agreement on this matter,’ said Philip.

What matter? wondered Edward lightly. What had the old man been talking about?

Isabella joined them.

‘She is upbraiding me for keeping her husband from her,’ said Phillip with a roguishness which did not match his shrewd face.

Isabella took Edward’s arm. ‘Well, I have found you now.’

‘We have had an interesting talk,’ said her father, ‘and we see many things from the same angle. This is a happy time for our two countries.’

Phillip led them into his private chamber and there he took a key from his chain and opened a wooden box with a strong iron lock. From it, he lifted a heavy chain of gold studded with rubies and diamonds of an unusual size and of great beauty.

This he placed about Edward’s neck.

‘A gift to you, my son. An outward sign of our promise to work together.’

‘Magnificent!’ cried Edward.

The King took a ring from the box. It was set with rubies and diamonds matched the chain. Philip put the ring on Edward’s finger.

‘A token of our friendship,’ said Philip. ‘You are my son now.’

Edward was astounded at the magnificence of the gift and he immediately wondered what Perrot would think of them. Perrot loved rubies almost as much as he loved diamonds!

Phillip was in a generous mood, which was unusual with him, and added a special significance to the gifts. There were more of these to come for he had acquired so much booty from the Templars that he could well afford to part with some of it. He produced a belt and two fine brooches all set with glittering jewels and some bales of linen and velvet.

It was a token of friendship and the knowledgeable agreed that Phillip’s generosity meant that he intended to rule England through his son-in-law.

‘My father loves you,’ said Isabella.

They lay on their bed together, his arm about her, her lovely hair loose about her shoulders. Now and then she paused in her conversation to kiss him lightly on the lips or brow. He smiled benignly at these caresses. She was a beautiful and passionate girl and it had not been as difficult as he had thought it might be to do his duty by her.

‘How shall I like England?’ she asked.

‘You will love it.’

‘Because it is beautiful or because you will be there?’

‘For both reasons,’ said Edward.

‘Will the people love me?’

‘How could they help it?’

‘The French can be difficult. They are quickly angered. There are riots now and then and people speak against the royal family.’

‘This happens now and then. But when the people see you, they will love you.’

‘Do they love you?’

‘So far, yes.’

‘You think they will change?’

‘They are fickle. They will tell you my father was the greatest of kings now that he is dead, but they did not always so while he lived.’

‘But they love you in spite of the fact that you are alive.’

‘I am a new King and they have not yet learned to hate me. At this stage they blame others for my shortcomings. Perrot― for instance. They blame him.’

‘Perrot?’

‘Oh― he is just one of the knights. The Earl of Cornwall, in truth.’

‘Why do they blame him?’

‘They must blame someone. Now let me tell you what I have done for you.

We shall go to Westminster Palace. You will see what I have ordered to be done and it is all to please you. I have had the gardens returfed and trellises built and flowers planted just for you. And I have had a new pier built which shall be called the Queen’s Bridge.’

‘All for me.’

‘Yes, for you. You will find I am ready to do a great deal for you.’

She kissed him again and again― light butterfly kisses first.

His arms tightened about her.

Oh, yes, it was certainly a great deal easier than he had believed possible. He wondered if Perrot had found it equally so with his bride.

The Dowager Queen of England came into her niece’s chamber and, as she indicated that she wished to speak to her alone, Isabella’s attendants disappeared.

‘It is nothing much,’ said Queen Marguerite. ‘I merely thought that as what is happening to you is so like what happened to me‚ we might have a little chat.’

‘My dearest aunt, you were very happy in England were you not?’

‘I was completely happy. Your husband’s father was good to me. I was afraid when I left France. You are not afraid, Isabella?’

Isabella shook her head.

‘That is well, dear niece. You are young and beautiful and strong-willed. I was young but that is where the comparison ends.’

‘Oh, but Aunt Marguerite, you were always very pretty and still are.’

‘There are some in our family who have outstanding beauty. You are one.

Your father was another and so was my sister Blanche. Edward had heard of her charms and wanted to marry her. Then your father changed his mind and I was sent in Blanche’s place. It was not a good beginning. But Edward never showed his disappointment. He said afterwards how glad he was that I came instead of Blanche. It was a very happy marriage. But then Edward was a good husband― a loved his family dearly. I wonder if―’

‘If my Edward will be the same. Dear lady, do not worry. I shall be.’

‘Yes, you will see to that. Of course Kings have such power and so many seek to please them. Often they are tempted―’

‘Tempted?’

‘To― take lovers.’

Isabella laughed. ‘There shall be none of that. Why, my lady, Edward is a meek man. He is a man who would not seek trouble. Never fear, I shall know how to deal with him.’

‘Of course you will, my dear.’

‘You are looking uneasy. Tell me, is there some scandal in Edward’s life of which I have not heard? I shall ask him. I shall demand a full confession.’

‘Oh no, no― You must not do that. All will be well. I was just over anxious― nothing more. Pray forget what I said.’

Dear Aunt Marguerite! She was rather a simpleton, but she had the kindest heart in the world. She was merely trying to warn her young niece of the ways of men.

Isabella kissed her warmly.

‘There is one thing you must know,’ she said. ‘I am able to take care of myself― and Edward.’

The Dowager Queen nodded eagerly. Of course it would be all right, she assured herself. Now that he had a young wife, this regrettable liaison with Piers Gaveston would cease.

It was time to leave for England. The young bride said farewell to her parents who had solemnly placed her in the care of her two uncles, Charles de Valois and Louis d’Evreux.

‘If you need advice on any matter, my child,’ said her father, ‘go to your uncles. They will tell you how to act.’

She promised that she would do this and Phillip seemed satisfied.

The journey across the Channel in spite of the bleakness of the February day was a calm one. Isabella stood on deck beside her new husband and watched with some emotion the approaching white cliffs. She glimpsed the castle high on the hill, that almost impregnable fortress which she had heard called the key to England.

Her eyes shining with happiness she grasped Edward and told him that she knew that the happiest time of her life lay ahead of her.

He kissed her hand and murmured that it was going to be his joy to make her so. She did not know how lightly he spoke and that the excitement in his eyes was not there because he was bringing home his bride but because soon he would see Gaveston.

There were crowds waiting to greet them. Isabella could see the banners as they came in; she heard the shouts of the people. This was indeed a royal welcome.

Edward took her hand as they went ashore. She heard someone say, ‘she is indeed a beauty.’ Then the crowds took up the cry: ‘Long live Isabella the Fair.

God bless our Queen.’

She felt intoxicated with joy. She was a Queen; she had a handsome husband whom she could love; her new people admired her and welcomed her warmly to her new land. It was everything she had imagined.

This was happiness.

There was a sudden silence in the crowd. A man had stepped forward. He was clearly of great importance for he was surrounded by extravagantly clad men who were in attendance. He was like a king himself— even more magnificent.

He must be an Emperor, she thought, or some ruler of even greater rank than the King himself.

His cotehardie glittered with jewels and the purple velvet cloak, surely a royal colour— was trimmed with miniver. He was dark-eyed, very handsome, lithe and graceful.

‘My lord,’ he cried and then he and the King were embracing as though their reunion was the sweetest thing in the world Edward was murmuring, ‘Brother― my brother― It has seemed so long.’

‘Forsooth Edward, you are back now. God’s ears, I thought the time would never come. It has seemed an age.’

‘Perrot, how has it been? What of the lords―?’

‘Fiddler has been fiddling, and the Mad Hound foaming. What did you expect, dear lord?’

‘Oh, it is so good to be back.’

Isabella said: ‘My lord, I pray you present your friend to me.’

‘My dear Isabella, of course― of course― This is the Earl of Cornwall, my brother.’

‘I did not know of this brother. I thought your brothers were but children.’

Edward laid his hand caressingly on Gaveston’s arm.

‘This is my beloved brother. We were together in the nursery, and there he became my best-loved brother. He has remained so since. You will love him, Isabella. He is the most amusing, interesting, charming, delightful of all our lords.’

She thought she detected an air of insolence in the manner in which Gaveston regarded her. She thought: The Earl of Cornwall, indeed! I shall soon put this fellow in his place. What possesses Edward to make so much of him?

She inclined her head slightly. She was then aware of a certain tension which had fallen on the watchers.

‘Let us go into the castle,’ said Edward.

They walked up the steep incline, the crowds parted to let them through. The shouting for the King and Queen persisted, but the Queen detected that there was a certain difference in these and those which had at first greeted her.

It was irritating that the Earl of Cornwall should walk beside them as they made their way into the castle.

There was a banquet to celebrate their arrival and as her women prepared her for it and kept exclaiming at her beauty, reminding her how the people who had gathered to see her and the King had been completely charmed by it, her spirits rose.

She had allowed herself to be irritated by that arrogant man who really had been ridiculously overdressed and tried to take up the King’s attention. That was something she would not endure. She would speak to Edward about him at the first opportunity.

She asked her women: ‘Why does the Earl of Cornwall give himself such airs?’

There was a brief silence and she went on sharply: ‘Answer me. Are you all struck dumb?’

‘My lady, he is a great friend of the King.’

‘A great friend indeed! Methinks he had the appearance of an eastern ruler.

He was more richly dressed than the King or I were, and his jewels― if they are real, they must be worth a fortune.’

‘The Earl is a rich man, my lady. Since the King bestowed such titles on him, they say he is the richest man in the kingdom. He is connected with the royal house too, for his wife is the King’s niece.’

The young Queen seemed slightly mollified. She thought she understood.

He had recently married Edward’s niece and because of this had titles bestowed on him. His newly acquired honors had gone to his head. This was often so. But he would have to be taught to mend his manners.

The women, having started to gossip seemed to find it difficult to stop.

‘He was Regent during the King’s absence. Some of the barons were not very pleased.’

‘Regent! That popinjay!’

‘The King thinks him very clever. The King is his great friend.’

Isabella could not quite understand the meaning of one woman’s expression.

She was on the point of demanding an explanation but thought better of it. She would speak to Edward.

What a fanfare of trumpets burst forth as she and Edward entered the hall!

There had been no time to speak to him as yet for he had only arrived in time to conduct her to the banquet.

She heart the exclamation of amazement and she knew it was because of her beauty. She saw her uncles exchange gratified glances. Edward pressed her hand.

All was well.

She sat beside the King and to her dismay on the other side of him was the Earl of Cornwall. He had changed his elaborate garments for even more splendid ones. Indeed, who did he think he was? The King? Oh yes, she would certainly speak to Edward.

The Earl of Lancaster was beside her. He was the most important of the barons because he was the son of Edward the First’s brother Edmund and therefore her husband’s cousin.

She found him excessively dull and it was irritating that Edward should have bestowed so much attention on his neighbor. They were laughing together and clearly had a great deal to say to each other. Of course he had held an important post in Edward’s absence. Perhaps that explained it.

After the meal, there was music and she played her lute to them for she wanted them to realize how accomplished their Queen was. She knew that she looked very beautiful with her hair falling over her shoulders. She had refused to have it confined with a wimple or any such headdress. It was really very beautiful hair and should be displayed to her new subjects, she believed. So she sat with her lute and sang the songs she had learned at her father’s court and afterwards she and Edward led the dance.

She whispered to him: ‘You talk a great deal to the Earl of Cornwall.’

‘Oh, Perrot! He has always been a close friend.’

‘Some were not very pleased.’

‘Some will always be displeased no matter what one does.’

‘ I was one of those who felt displeasure.’

‘You, Isabella? Oh you will soon be used to Perrot. I want you to appreciate him. I am most anxious for you two to be friends.’

‘I like not his arrogant manner and his style of dressing to outdo us all.’

‘Oh― that is just Perrot. You will understand.’

It was difficult to talk seriously while dancing so she did not tell him that she had taken an instant dislike to his Perrot and she thought it very unlikely that she would become his friend.

Edward was with her for the rest of the evening and she was longing for that time when they should be alone together. Dear Edward, he was so handsome and he hated conflict. He would be ready to do exactly as she told him. It was a very pleasant prospect. One of her first tasks would be to put a stop to the friendship between him and the Earl of Cornwall. She would do it gradually so that Edward would not realize it was happening.

Now she longed for him to come. She had scented her hair with special perfumes which she had brought from France. She would lavish her caresses on him; she would make him weak with love for her and after that when they lay languorous together she would hint to him that she wanted Gaveston to be less prominent at Court.

Her women had left her and she lay in anticipation of his coming.

‘Tomorrow, my lord of Cornwall,’ she murmured to herself, ‘you are going to find yourself decidedly out of favor.’

She smiled to herself. Dear Edward. He was tender, so eager to please.

He was long in putting in an appearance. He might be delayed of course. It was his first night in his country. Surely, none of those dreary barons would detain him tonight? This was not the night for talking State business.

But how long he was!

An hour had passed. But still he had not come. What could it mean?

She rose from her bed and went to the door of her chamber. One of her women came to her at once.

‘Is aught wrong, my lady?’

‘The King has been delayed. He has not yet come to his bed.’

The woman averted her eyes and Isabella caught her by the wrist. “Do you know where he is?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Find out.’

The woman escaped. Isabella went back to her bed. She sat on it, her eyes on the door. At any moment he would come. She would scold him, pout a little, insist that he placate her.

But he did not come.

Of course the woman came in, nervous, eyes downcast.

‘The King was seen in conversation with one of his ministers.’

Isabella curbed her rising anger. She did not want to betray her feelings.

People gossiped. She would not let Edward know how much he meant to her.

That would be unwise.

‘State matters,’ she murmured yawning.

‘It is so, my lady.’

She was angry. Her mother would have said: ‘A King is first a king. You must remember that.’

Her father was a man who would always consider his kingship before anything else.

But Edward― Who would have believed it! She was going to be very angry with him.

It was late next day when she saw him. He was in the in the company of Piers Gaveston. They were seated together in a window-sear, the light falling on Edward’s flaxen head which was very close to Gaveston’s dark one. They were laughing and whispering together. Of state matters! she thought angrily.

She advanced into the room.

‘Edward.’ Her voice was cold with its suppressed anger.

‘Ah!’ Gaveston had risen. He gave a bow which might be called ironic.

‘The Queen.’

‘Isabella!’ Edward sounded suitably contrite.

‘So you are here,’ she said advancing. ‘Are your state matters so pressing then?’

There was a short silence then. She stared for she could not believe what she saw— Piers Gaveston was wearing the diamond and ruby chain— Templars’ spoil— which her father had given to Edward.

Gaveston knew that she was startled. He lifted the chain with a delicate hand on which she immediately recognized the ruby and diamond ring, another of her father’s gifts. She was too bewildered for speech.

‘Very pressing,’ Gaveston was saying. ‘It is long since the King and I were together. We had much time to make up for. Is that not so, dear lord?’

‘Oh yes, yes,’ said Edward.

Isabella turned to the King. ‘The chain,’ she said, ‘the ring. He must have stolen them. Have you not seen―?’

Gaveston laughed. ‘Are they not beautiful? I could have swooned with delight when my dear lord set the chain about my neck and put the ring on my finger.’

Edward spoke then haltingly, his eyes still on her fearful and yet faintly defiant. ‘Perrot loves rubies almost as much as diamonds―’ he said.

‘And the two combined are quite irresistible,’ added Gaveston.

‘These are priceless ornaments,’ cried Isabella. ‘They are my father’s gifts to us. They are for our children. You cannot let this man wear them.’

‘Ha!’ retorted Gaveston with a smirk. ‘My lord the King would never attempt to stop me wearing what is mine. Very precious they are to me but more because of the giver rather for their value.’

It was like a dream, a nightmare. Why should Edward give costly gifts to this young man? Why should he desert her for him?

She felt dizzy with apprehension. She remembered sly looks which she had failed to interpret.

She said: ‘I do not understand what this means. Edward, please dismiss this man. I have much to say to you.’

Edward looked at Gaveston who slowly shook his head.

‘Edward!’ cried Isabella, arrogant and appealing all at once.

Edward said, ‘I will see you later, Isabella. You see, my dear, having been away, there is so much to say to Perrot. Later I will explain.’

She felt weak and inadequate to deal with this situation and that was not due to Edward but to Gaveston.

She turned and went back to her chamber. She turned her attendants away.

She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Understanding was beginning to dawn on her. How many had married, gone to a new country and found confronted by a husband’s favoured mistress.

She did not have to face a mistress. She had to face Gaveston.

Perhaps her Aunt Marguerite was the best choice of confidante for she understood now that her aunt had made an attempt to prepare her.

What sort of man had she married? This was monstrous. How could he have deceived her so? She wished she had been told from the beginning. She had heard of these matters. Richard Coeur le Lion had loved his own sex and had neglected his wife. Consequently he had left no heirs and the kingdom had passed to his brother King john. Was that what was happen again? She would be no barren Queen. She would be the mother of kings. She had determined on that.

She took her aunt’s hand and said to her: ‘I want you to tell me the truth.

What sort of man is this I have married?’

The Dowager Queen flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘So, you know about Gaveston.’

‘I know that I saw the King not all through the night. Do you mean he shared that man’s couch?’

‘It has been an unfortunate friendship,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘His father feared it and sought to break it. He banished Gaveston but as soon as Edward became King he recalled him.’

‘He must be banished again. He is a loathsome creature.’

‘I agree, my dear, but will Edward?’

‘He must be made to.’

‘The barons would be with you.’

‘Ah the barons. Then there is hope. Oh, my dear aunt, I was so happy.

Edward seemed― perfect. I cannot believe this. I saw that man wearing the jewels my father had given to my husband. How could he give them to that man!’

‘He will give anything to Gaveston.’

Isabella stamped her foot in fury. ‘I’ll not endure it. He has deceived me. If my father had known this, he would never have allowed me to marry him.’

The Dowager Queen looked sad. Of course her brother had known of it.

Everyone knew of it. But Edward was a king and his friendship for another man need not prevent his having children. Philip wanted a bond between England and France. He wanted peace for a while so he had agreed to the marriage. He would reason that Isabella was a beautiful and virtuous young woman. It was for her to wean Edward from Piers Gaveston.

‘My dear aunt, you must help me.’

‘It is what I want to do, my child.’

‘How can I be rid of that man?’

‘The barons are in revolt against him. It is said in some quarters that they will not endure him for much longer.’

Isabella narrowed her eyes. ‘It shall be so. I shall do all I can to help them.

When I saw him wearing the chain and the ring, I could not believe my eyes. I thought of my sisters-in-law. Do you remember when you visited us you gave them costly gifts of jewels. They gave them to their lovers who foolishly wore them at Court― flaunted them that all might know of their relationship with these foolish women. My father saw them. He was furious. You know angry my father can get.’

‘I never knew any who could be so coldly ruthless.’

‘My dear aunt, he arrested those two brash young men. Do you know what happened to them?’

Marguerite shook her head. She did not want to hear but Isabella was determined to tell. ‘They were flayed alive and my sisters-in-law were sent to prison. They are still there.’

Marguerite covered her face with her hands. She has grown very soft here, thought Isabella. But then she always was. It was good that she married an old man who, wicked though he no doubt was, was ready to be a good and faithful husband to a docile wife.

Isabella knew what her aunt’s advice would be, she would tell her to be a docile wife, that she must accept her husband’s peculiarities; she must hope that he would not ignore her altogether and that she would, in due course, bear the heir to the throne.

But there was nothing docile in Isabella’s nature. She was not like her predecessor Berengaria who had meekly waited for her husband’s attention. She wondered what had happened to that gentle Queen. She had died neglected and there had never been any children to comfort her.

It was unfortunate that Edward was the man he was. She hated to think how he had deceived her and how she had allowed herself to become enamoured of him. She would not sit by quietly and wring her hands.

Gaveston― and Edward― had better beware.

She had seen very little of Edward since that meeting with him and Gaveston. Edward was evading her, which was typical of him. He hated conflict and he knew that she was deeply offended. She had time to overcome her shock and rage in some degree and could plan more calmly what action she could take.

Her first impulse had been to go to her uncles and demand to return to France, but she knew that would not be permitted. She was Queen of England and that was what her father wanted her to be, so here she must remain.

When she next saw Edward alone she was aloof and cool. He pretended not to notice this and behaved as though he had not neglected her and everything was as it had been before her discovery.

‘My dear,’ he said, ‘the coronation is approaching.’

‘So I am be crowned your Queen?’

‘But of course.’

‘I thought you might have reserved that honour for Gaveston.’

He looked at her uneasily and laughed as though they shared a joke.

‘He is making the arrangements,’ he said quickly. ‘There is no one who can manage these matters better. You will have the most splendid coronation, I promise you.’

‘This Gaveston― has he estates outside England?’

‘He is rich. He has estates in Gascony.’

‘Of course, he is a Gascon. He must sigh for his native land.’

‘Oh, he is happy enough here.’

‘I doubt it not but the happiness of others must sometimes be considered besides his, I daresay.’

‘The people are very happy. They are looking forward to the coronation.

Lancaster says they took to you at once. They do not always, you know. The people can be very unkind. Do you know the Londoners nearly killed my grandmother once because they were displeased with her?’

‘It is only when kings and queens have complete power that they can afford to offend the people. I suppose that is something we should always remember.’

‘It was what my father always said.’

‘He was a wise man and it is never easy to follow such. People make comparisons. To follow a strong man one must be seen to be as strong.’

‘My father’s shadow has always haunted me.’

‘I doubt not that it will be more than his shadow that haunts you if you do not mend your ways.’

‘Isabella!’

‘Yes,’ she cried suddenly her anger rising. ‘I have no intention of being set aside for your paramour.’

‘I― I don’t understand.’

‘You understand very well. Everyone knows of your relationship with this man. It is unnatural. It must stop.. You have a queen now. It is our duty to produce an heir.’

‘I know― it is what I want.’

‘Then dismiss this man and behave as your people expect.’

Edward realized for the first time that his wife was by no means the meek girl he had been telling Perrot she was. She was a virago facing him now. She clenched her fists, her eyes blazed and she trembled with rage.

‘I will not have people talk. I will not be your neglected wife awaiting your pleasure. I will not endure this insolent fellow. Do you hear that? I shall see my uncles. I hear there are many in the country who do not care for this man Gaveston. You will banish him as your father did― or it will go ill with him, I promise you.’

Edward was dumbfounded. He had come to discuss the coronation and the beautiful clothes she would wear and to tell her how she had enchanted his people with her grace and beauty. And this had happened.

He hated trouble. He turned abruptly and left her.

The barons had arrived at the palace for an audience with the King.

Lancaster, Pembroke, Lincoln and Warwick were among them.

They had come, they said, to speak of the approaching coronation with the King as they had heard disturbing reports of it.

Edward, fresh from his interview with Isabella, received them cautiously.

Lancaster was the spokesman. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘we are made uneasy by rumor.’

‘You should not allow yourself to be made uneasy by rumour, cousin. If you do, you will never have a moment’s peace.’

‘We have had little since we have heard of the Queen’s displeasure, my lord.’

‘The Queen’s displeasure! What means this?’

‘It has been brought to our notice that her royal uncles are not pleased with her treatment here and it is certain that they will carry ill reports to her father, the King of France.’

‘The King of France has enough to concern him in his own kingdom.’

‘His daughter’s welfare must be one of his main concerns.’

‘Do not believe it, cousin. The King of France concerns himself only with his own advantage.’

‘His daughter is part of that, my lord. We have come to ask you that the Earl of Cornwall be sent out of the country.’

Edward was scarlet with rage.

‘You must be mad. Why should I banish the Earl of Cornwall?’

‘Because he is a disruptive presence and he has displeased the Queen and her uncles.’

‘The Queen must conform to our ways,’ mumbled Edward.

‘This is a matter to which she will not become reconciled. We have come here to tell you that we will not have Gaveston at the coronation.’

‘Not have him at the coronation― my coronation! It is he who has made all the arrangements. They are almost complete. The coronation is to take place in a few days. What do you mean, you will not attend?’

Warwick, foaming at the mouth with suppressed anger, said: ‘We are not alone, my lord. We represent a large company. We were with your father when he banished Gaveston. We want you to do as your father did.’

‘I am heartily sick of being compared with my father.’

‘It is understandable,’ said Warwick wryly.

‘I will rule in my own way. I will brook no interference.’

‘In that case, my lord, more barons will absent themselves from your coronation than will attend.’ Lancaster bowed and stepped backwards toward the door. The others followed him.

Edward stared after them.

‘The insolent dogs!’ he cried. But he was afraid.

It was necessary to postpone the coronation. Obviously, it could not take place with so many barons absenting themselves. They must be there to acclaim him as King and show their allegiance.

How difficult they were! After Perrot had made such grand arrangements!

Perrot was going to carry the crown and sword before him and he was so looking forward to doing it. The people of London were anticipating it with pleasure, too. They loved such celebrations and the King so newly married to a very beautiful wife would make it a doubly joyous occasion. Moreover the Queen was the daughter of France and that could mean peace on the Continent.

Such linking of families always benefited those who might be called on to fight.

It could be a happy occasion and the barons going to spoil it because of Gaveston.

As it was impossible to let the coronation on the appointed day and the King was most anxious that the people should not know that it was postponed because of disagreement with the barons; he had a ready excuse. Robert de Winchelsea, Archbishop of Canterbury, was on the Continent. He had been banished by Edward the First with whom he had been in continual disagreement, but on his accession, Edward the Second had sent for him to return to England. Alas, the Archbishop’s health made the journey back to England very arduous, and it was therefore plausible Coronation should not take place because of the absence of the Archbishop.

The Queen was aloof; her uncles were suspicious; and the people did not want the coronation delayed. If the Archbishop of Canterbury was absent, what was wrong with the Bishop of Winchester? They wanted their coronation.

In desperation, the King sent for those barons who had confronted him before. They must change their minds, he told them.

‘There is only one thing which will make us change our minds,’ Warwick told him. ‘Your promise to banish Piers Gaveston.’

The King was dismayed but he saw the purpose in their eyes. This could be disastrous. It could even be the beginning of civil war. Piers had only just been returned to him and now they wanted to send him away again.

But there was purpose in their eyes.

‘The coronation must take place― soon,’ said the King.

They agreed. If not, the people would know that something was very wrong.

‘What can I do?’ cried Edward.

‘Please the Queen and the people,’ he was told, ‘by banishing Gaveston.’

‘You don’t know what you ask!’ cried the King in anguish.

‘What we do know,’ said the implacable Warwick, ‘is what will happen if you do not.’

These barons! They had too much power. Ever since Magna Carta a king was not in truth a king. He had to bow to their will or face― disaster.

The King knew he had to promise. After all promises did not necessarily have to be kept.

The coronation was a disaster. The fact that it was postponed had tarnished whole affair in some way, and the people were aware of certain tensions.

Nevertheless they turned out in their thousands and the press in the streets and about the abbey was so great that when one of the knights, Sir John Bakewell, fell from his horse, he was trodden to death before he could be rescued.

Gaveston had insisted on making the arrangements. He had intended that this coronation should be more splendid than any which had gone before― and he the most splendid figure in it. But his numerous enemies had decided on quite the opposite and on this occasion they proved more effective than he was.

The service was delayed and darkness had descended just after the consecration of the King and Queen. When they arrived at the banqueting hall by torchlight it was discovered that the meal was not ready in spite of the delay.

The barons were very hungry and they complained bitterly and there were audible whispers that Gaveston’s departure must not be delayed. When the food did arrive, it was proclaimed to be cold and ill-cooked and disgruntled looks could seen everywhere.

The Queen’s uncle Charles who was close to her said: ‘This is an affront to you and therefore to France. It shall not be forgotten.’

‘You must write your account of this matter― and others― to your father and we will see what he has to say,’ added Louis.

Isabella had every intention of doing that.

Her coronation had been a disaster and she had not been the centre of attraction, for all eyes had been on that impossible outrageous creature, Gaveston. True the looks cast in his direction had been far from friendly but still it had been as he had intended it should from the first: His day.

The Queen was ready to upbraid the King and tell him that she would complain to her father, but he did not come near her. He must spend as many hours as he could with his beloved Gaveston, particularly now the threat of separation hung over him.

Isabella wrote home to her father: ‘What sort of man have I been married to?

I see little of him. He prefers the couch of his favourite Gaveston to mine.’

Her uncles informed the barons that they were displeased by the treatment given to the Queen and that they would consider it their duty to explain the situation to her father.

Lancaster replied that the Queen’s uncles could be no more displeased with the state of affairs than the barons were and that before long they intended Gaveston to be banished from the country.

Charles de Valois discussed the matter with his brother Louis and they wondered whether it was wise to advise the King to send his favourite away.

‘If he does not,’ said Charles, ‘the barons will rise in revolt.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Our brother will not be displeased at that, I’m sure.’

‘And Isabella?’ asked Louis.

‘Never fear, we shall take care of our niece.’

Charles was right. When the brothers returned to France the King was interested to hear of the English barons’ dissatisfaction with their King.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘We must let them know that if they should decide to rise against him we should not come to his aid.’

‘As your son-in-law, would he not expect it?’ asked Louis.

‘There is no harm in his expecting it. But Edward is not my son. Every King of England knows that France cannot help but watch with interest any disaffection in his realm; and since we can never be sure when he will seek to take advantage of us, we must be somewhat relieved to know that he has his troubles elsewhere.’

‘Do you propose to take action, my lord?’ asked Louis.

The King smiled slowly. ‘Secret action. It shall be known that if the barons needed help we might be prepared to give them― a little.’

Lancaster had received word from the King of France that Philip was displeased with Edward’s treatment of his daughter and, if Lancaster were to make himself head of that party which demanded action against the King’s favourite, he would have the support of the King of France.

That decided Lancaster. The party was more powerful than he would have believed possible. The King had vowed to banish Gaveston. He and they must make him realize it was within their power to force him do so.

Lancaster called together a meeting of the barons.

‘It is clear,’ he announced, ‘that we cannot continue in this way. Gaveston must go. The King of France desires it and no wonder. Gaveston’s presence at court is an insult to the Queen.’

The barons agreed with one exception. This was Hugh le Despenser, Earl of Winchester, an ambitious man― more than that, an avaricious one. He had served in Scotland with the King ‘s father and eager to curry favour with the younger Edward, he saw an opportunity here. He had asked for an audience with the King and being admitted found him with Gaveston, both of them rather gloomy for they knew the barons were standing together against the favorite.

Winchester told them that the barons had called a meeting and intended to confront the King and command Gaveston’s banishment.

‘I will not let him go!’ cried Edward petulantly.

Gaveston said: ‘They may force you to do so, sweet lord.’

‘I will not be forced. Am I the King, or am I not? God’s teeth, I have not reigned a year yet and they would rule me.’

Winchester said: ‘I fear my lord that they are going to insist and it may be necessary for a while to do as they wish. But need it be for long, and why should you not decide where the Earl of Cornwall should go?’

‘They want to send him to Gascony.’

‘He could go to Ireland, my lord. There he could act as your lieutenant. He could be given a grant of money and live in comfort until you could see fit to recall him. You see if there were trouble in Ireland it would be necessary to consult with him. And then you could meet somewhere half-way. You could accompany him on his journey until he takes ship. Perhaps this could break the melancholy a little.’

Gaveston’s face had brightened but Edward was still downcast.

‘I do not wish him to go at all,’ he cried peevishly.

‘My heart is torn in pieces,’ added Gaveston, ‘But Winchester is right. We can soften the blow. We can rest assured that they are determined to part us, and I fear they may succeed. But let us make our parting as brief as possible. Let us see if we cannot outwit them in the end.’

Edward could not be comforted. He said he could not bear to be parted from Gaveston even for a night.

Hugh le Despenser watched them together and thought how weak the King was and how completely Gaveston controlled him but with Gaveston out of the way would the King be looking for new favourites? It was not that Despenser wished to take Gaveston’s place. None could do that. But a weak King could be flattered and worked upon and Hugh le Despenser might be the man to do it.

Gaveston was going.

The barons had decided on it and they had even hinted at civil war if Edward did not obey them. He had to make a choice. If Hugh le Despenser threw in his lot with the barons, he would have many rivals. Lancaster― though not the most astute of men— would lead them. There was Warwick, Lincoln, Pembroke― too many strong men.

But if he supported the King, he might become more powerful than any of them. Even if Gaveston returned, he would be grateful to him, for he was going to speak for him at the council meeting which would be held.

He had made up his mind. Hugh le Despenser, Earl of Winchester had thrown in his lot with the King and Gaveston.

Edward was still King and would remain King. It was far-sighted to curry favour with kings if one could keep that favor.

The next day at the meeting of the council, Hugh le Despenser was the only one who spoke against the banishment of Gaveston. The barons rounded on him, hinted that he was a traitor, but he merely laughed.

He was sure he had taken the right action and that he would lose nothing in the long run. He was present when the ultimatum was put to the King. The barons were threatening civil war if Gaveston did not leave the country.

Edward had no alternative but to submit, but he had expressed his gratitude to Hugh le Despenser for his support.

‘I shall not forget my friends,’ he said, and when shortly afterwards Hugh le Despenser was dismissed from the council, he remembered those words.

The King rode with Gaveston to Bristol, seeking to make the journey as long as possible.

He was sick at heart. There was no joy in life for him without his beloved Perrot. Gaveston declared that his own sorrow at the parting was as great if not greater than the King’s.

This was not true of course. In fact Gaveston was somewhat excited at the prospect of governing Ireland. There he would be treated like a king. He had come with all the trappings of royalty and he intended to be treated as such. It had been a stroke of brilliance to have thought of Ireland. He was determined to succeed there. That would be a blow for his enemies. They thought he was frivolous but he was by no means so. He frivolled to amuse the King, that was all. The King’s favour was necessary to him. Because of it, he was richest man in England; and he had been careful to get his treasures out of the country because he could never be sure when those barons were going to trump up some charges against him, and who knew they might take it into their heads to confiscate his goods. So he had made sure his wealth was taken into Gascony where he had some estates and there it awaited him if at any time he had to leave the country in a hurry. Edward was the most generous of men and he had bestowed on him the funds which the late King had gathered together for a crusade. Gaveston grimaced. He could make much good use of such treasure.

Better for him to possess it than that it should be frittered away on some useless campaign for killing Saracens and getting nowhere.. When he thought of all that had been wasted in that hopeless endeavor in the past he could feel really angry.

Well now he must say farewell to his sorrowing King and assure him that very soon he would be back with him.

‘I intend to make such a success of this Irish campaign, sweet lord, that your barons will tear their hair and smite their breasts and like as not grovel on the floor and eat the rushes.’

‘That was what my great grandfather used to do.’

‘They shall do the same, I promise you.’

‘Promise me one thing more important, my dear one. That you will never forget me and come back as loving as you left.’

‘I give you my word, dear lord.’

Edward stood on the shore and watched the ship sail away. Then he turned sorrowfully away. ‘I can know no happiness,’ he said, ‘until Perrot comes back to me.’

MURDER ON BLACKLOW HILL

EDWARD was desolate but Isabella was triumphant. She was furious, of course, to have been set aside for Gaveston and her inclination was to scorn her husband, but she had grown up since her marriage and was not going to act in a manner which might bring no good to herself. Strangely enough she was still physically in love with her husband. When she looked round the court, she could not find one man who was as handsome in her eyes.

As for Edward, he was pliant, amiable, and anxious to placate her and she found his melancholy attractive. She thought how gratifying it would be to win him away from Gaveston and when that fellow returned, as he undoubtedly would, it would give her immense satisfaction to see Edward turn away from him because of his love for his wife. It would be a difficult task to achieve with one of Edward’s proclivities, but the very immensity of it intrigued and inspired her.

There was one other consideration— and this was the chief of all: she wanted children. She must have a son who would inherit the throne. If she did, then she could guide and rule him; and if Edward so displeased the barons and they deposed him— which, it had already occurred to her, was not an impossibility— she would be there with her son ready to take the crown. That was looking forward a good many years but she was becoming shrewd and wise.

Edward had humiliated her beyond normal endurance. Very well, why should she not use him to get what she wanted from life? Determination had taken the place of humiliation and life had become quite amusing and exiting.

It was by no means so for Edward. He missed Gaveston desperately.

Sometimes he thought of giving up everything and joining him in Ireland. He could not do that, of course, and secretly he wondered whether Perrot would find him so attractive if he were not King. He must keep his royalty― Perrot set such store by it. He loved to see Perrot’s face light up when some gift was bestowed on him and only kings could provide the sort of gifts which Perrot wanted.

There was trouble in Scotland. Robert the Bruce, who been crowned King there, was endeavouring to regain the whole of his kingdom and drive out the English. The best thing that had happened to Scotland from Bruce’s point of view was the death of Edward the First, he whom they called the Hammer of the Scots, that Edward who had commanded that his bones he placed in a hammock and carried before his army. Bruce said cynically that he feared the bones of Edward the First more than he feared his son and any army led by him.

Insulting words, but let be, thought Edward. How can I be in Scotland when there is so much to be done here and I am unsure of the fidelity of those about me?

His father-in-law was offering advice. In fact, since the marriage Philip had made it clear that he took a great interest in Edward’s affairs. Philip had the Pope dancing to his tune; he wanted his son-in-law to do the same.

A messenger from the Pope had arrived in England and he told the King that his master was much disturbed by the practices carried out by the Knights Templars and that he wished the Order to be suppressed in England as it was being in France.

Edward was alarmed. He had always believed there was something holy about the Templars. He knew that over the centuries they had amassed great wealth but he remembered his father’s saying how magnificent they had been during his crusade and how their presence there had been such a help to the soldiers.

He sent for Walter Reynolds who had been a great comfort to him since the departure of Gaveston.

Walter was thoughtful when he heard of the Pope’s instruction. ‘You can depend upon it, this does not come so much from His Holiness as from the King of France,’ was his comment.

‘Philip has started to suppress the Templars. Walter, I fear it will bring me ill luck. I fear if I do this, something awful will happen. I might never see Perrot again.’

‘The King of France has amassed great wealth through the suppression of the Order, my lord.’

‘I know it well.’

‘And a king never needed money more than you do.’

‘It seems the wrong way to get it.’

‘If it is true that they practise these obscene acts―’ Walter licked his lips and Edward knew that Walter was thinking how he would like to witness some of them.

‘Do you believe it, Walter?’

Walter shrugged his shoulders. ‘It would be a way of replenishing the royal coffers,’ was his comment.

Edward shuddered. ‘I will not do it.’ he said. ‘Frankly, Walter, I do not believe it. My father-in-law is a ruthless man. He needs money, so he looks round to see who has some. He has alighted on the Templars. I think this will bring him ill luck. The Templars are― or were― men of God.’

‘You will doubtless put it before the council.’

‘This I must do, but somehow, Walter, I fancy they will not wish to do it either. The Templars have lived peaceably here for many years. I had rather they continued to do so.’

‘The King of France is the most powerful man in Europe, my lord. It is a blessing that you married his daughter.’ Walter smirked. ‘The lady seems a little more pleased with life of late. I doubt not this state of affairs has reached the French King’s ears.’

‘If he thinks to rule me,’ said Edward somewhat petulantly, ‘I shall defy him.’

‘Who is the King of France to govern the King of England! He is determined though that the Templars be suppressed and not only in his own country. It may be that he wishes to ease his conscience by letting others share his guilt― if guilt it is.’

‘If these men are innocent, Walter―’

‘I doubt they are that. It is not the nature of men to be innocent and when an Order amasses great wealth it can become obsessed by that wealth and eager to see it multiply. They say there was much indulgence among these men. They lived in luxury, they belied their holy laws. Oh yes, that seems very likely, my lord.’

‘But does this deserve torture and death?’

‘The King of France thinks so.’

‘Do you think he has lived such a virtuous life?’

‘That is beside the point if I may say so, lord. Philip is a king; these men proclaim to be holy knights. They have been foolish. They should not have become so wealthy for where there is wealth there will always be those who covet it and scheme to take possession of it. There is no doubt that Philip is determined on their destruction. He sent for the master, Jacques de Molai, on pretext of wishing to talk to him. Molai came to Paris from Cyprus and was treated well at first to allay his suspicions. Then suddenly Philip swooped on Molai and sixty of his knights of high order. They were taken to noisome dungeons and there daily these Knights Templars are submitted to hideous torture.’

Edward covered his face with his hands. ‘I hate to hear of it, Walter. I will not allow it here.’

‘Under this torture many of the knights have confessed to obscene practices.’

‘What they say under torture does not count.’

‘Indeed it does. The purpose of the torture in to reduce them to such agony that they will do anything to stop it.’

‘I do not want it here, Walter. I do not want it. Why cannot people be merry and gay and laugh and sing together? Why does there have to be this vileness?’

‘Ah, my lord, you are gentle and kind. All kings are not so. Least of all your father-in-law. He acts with demonical fury against the Templars. He wants their money and he wants an excuse for taking it. Doubtless they would be willing to give it to him but that will not suit him. He must ease his conscience. Therefore he must prove to the world and himself that these men deserve to be dispossessed.. This he does through torture when they confess to the sins he and his friends like Philip de Martigny, Archbishop of Sens, and his minister, Guillaume de Nogaret, have thought up for them.’

‘Perhaps they will refuse to confess,’ said Edward. ‘What then?’

‘Then there will be further torture and that such that such as few can withstand. I have heard that many have lost the use of their feet after being submitted to a certain form of treatment which the soles of the feet are greased and set in a screen which is placed before a fire. I have heard that the slow burning is one of the most agonizing tortures devised by men. There are many others―’

‘I do not wish to hear of them,’ cried Edward. ‘Walter, I do not wish that the Templars in England shall be arrested. Perhaps they could be warned. Perhaps they could give up some of their wealth― but I do not wish them to be tortured or burned at the stake, I am sure Perrot would agree with me if he were here.’

‘Ah, Perrot!’ sighed Walter. ‘But what good news of him in Ireland!’

Edward brightened. ‘I am so proud of him. Even Mad Dog Warwick had to admit that the news was good. The way in which he dealt with the rebellion in Munster was magnificent.’

Walter nodded. ‘If he goes on like this, my lord, you might suggest he comes back.’

‘Do you think they would listen?’

‘Who knows? They might be ready to. Let him go on for a while as he has begun and even his worst enemies won’t be able to deny that he has made a good job of Ireland.’

Edward forgot the distress he felt at the treatment of the Templars in contemplation of that glorious possibility.

But when he sat with his council and expressed his views regarding the Templars, he was pleased to find that the majority of his ministers agreed with him.

Each day there was news of the terrible fate that was befalling the Templars in France and of how many were arrested and taken before the council set up by the Archbishop of Sens. Some would not confess to their alleged sins even under the most violent torture and were taken to the stakes which were set up all over Paris and burned to death.

Nothing was too revolting to be laid at their door, and their enemies were hard put to it to think up new crimes committed. Many of them were escaping from France and that did not suit Philip.

He wanted the entire Order wiped out. He demanded that other countries follow his lead; he was most displeased at the attitude of his son-in-law. His greatest advantage came from his puppet the Pope. The Templars must be destroyed, thundered Clement. Excommunication could well be the wages of those who ignored the command.

The threat of excommunication could always arouse alarm. Edward was persuaded by his ministers that although he might defy his father-in-law , he could not defy the Pope. That the Pope was acting on the instructions of the King of France was true, but behind the Pope was the image of the Holy See and the people feared it.

There was a half-hearted attempt in England to suppress the Templars but this could not be allowed to proceed and in a short time the Pope had sent his inquisitors to deal with the matter. It was the first time that the Inquisition had been set up in England; many determined at that time that it should never come to their shores again and by great good fortune, it never did. It brought with it a change in the attitude of people. Fear had come into the land. There had been persecution before of course; there was cruelty; but the sinister inquisitors shrouded in religious fervour with their instruments of torture and their secret administrations had brought something to the country which had never been there before.

The Inquisition did not lack victims. Countless arrests were made. The tales of what happened in those sombre chambers of pain were whispered in dark corners. Insecurity was in the air.

Edward had said that he would have no burnings at the stake and it was ordained that the Templars should be disbanded, their property confiscated and they could find places where they could settle into civil life.

The Templars could not believe their good fortune for they were well aware of what was happening in France. True, they must find new ways of existence but at least they had been left with their lives.

The Inquisition finally departed from England to the great relief of the people.

Never, never, they vowed, should it come to these shores again Meanwhile the horrible tortures persisted in France and the Grand Master himself suffered. He was in his seventies and to the delight of the King of France could not stand up to torture and was ready to confess anything of which he might be accused, but it was not possible for Philip to consign him to the flames. He must receive his sentence of death from the Pope. That would come in due course. Meanwhile Philip concerned himself with lesser men and revelled in their property which was more than even he had dared hope.

Edward had replenished his exchequer also, which gave him much relief, but was glad he had not the sin of murder on his conscience.

His behavior over the matter of the Templars had brought him a certain popularity with the people. In fact, they had always been fond of him and had blamed Gaveston for the troubles in the kingdom. When he rode out with the Queen he was cheered, and seeing them together the people thought that the scandalous affair of the king and Gaveston was over now.

If the Queen could give birth to a son, they would be popular indeed.

In his heart, Edward did not greatly care. All he wanted was the return of Gaveston and he began to plan for his return.

Perrot was clever. He was doing so well in Ireland that even his greatest enemy— Warwick perhaps— had to admit that this was so.

As for Edward, he sought to placate those very men who had dismissed Perrot, and they were not unwilling to be placated. He was after all the King and the King’s friendship must mean a good deal to them all. Edward was realizing more and more that there was only one thing he desired— that was the return of Gaveston, and he was ready to do anything to bring it about.

His friendship with Walter Reynolds had always been a source of irritation to the nobility who deplored the King’s partiality for those of humble birth. He had recently made Walter Bishop of Worcester and had actually attended the consecration by Archbishop Winchelsey at Canterbury. That was a great mark of favour. Walter was well known as a crony of the King and Gaveston; he was standing with Edward now against the barons and was believed to be working for the return of Gaveston. So it was clever of Edward to send him off on a papal mission to the Court of Avignon where he would have to remain for some time. That was not all. There was one man whom Gaveston’s enemies were very eager to see removed from his position near the King. This was Hugh le Despenser. He had been dismissed from the council at the time of Gaveston’s banishment but he still remained close to the King.

The departure of Walter Reynolds had so pleased the barons that Edward had another idea which he confided to Hugh.

‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘you know my regard for you. You must never think that it has faltered. I am a faithful friend I trust, to those who serve me well.’

‘Your fidelity to the Earl of Cornwall can never have been surpassed,’ said Hugh.

‘Ah Perrot! How I miss him. But he will come back to us, Hugh. I am determined on it.’

‘I pray so night and day, my lord.’

‘I know you are our good friend, Hugh. That is why you will understand what I am going to do. I must have Perrot back. I shall die if he does not come to me soon. I have sent Walter to France. Did you see the effect of that? They could not believe it and they took it as a sign that I have reformed my ways and am going to be the sort of King they want me to be.’

‘I have noticed it, my lord. Walter was desolate to go and you to lose him.’

‘He understands, as you must, Hugh. I am going to dismiss you.’

Hugh’s face was blank. He was so eager not to show his emotions.

‘It will seem that you no longer please me as a close friend, but that is untrue. You must understand that. I shall be seen everywhere with Isabella.

Please understand what this means to me. I must have Perrot back.’

‘I understand well, my lord. You will win the barons and the Queen to your side and then you will say that there is no reason why the Earl of Cornwall should not come back. He has proved himself an able lieutenant and good servant of the country; and you must have grown out of your infatuation with him for you are dismissing your old friends and becoming a good husband to the Queen.’

‘You have it, Hugh. Do you think it will work?’

Hugh was thoughtful for a while. Then he said: ‘It may well. As for myself, although I shall be desolate to be dismissed, I am ready to do anything in your service.’

The King embraced Hugh.

‘My dear good friend, I shall not forget this.’

The barons were as Edward had foreseen, duly impressed by these signs of reformation but they were not to be entirely deceived.

The King was too extravagant. There were too many Court officials who had too much power. The laws of justice needed revising and there should be more drastic action against those who debased the coin. In fact the barons drew up a long list of necessary changes.

When these were presented to him Edward said: ‘I would be ready to agree to these on one condition.’

‘And what condition is this, my lord?’ asked Warwick.

‘That the Earl of Cornwall return to England and his estates be restored to him.’

There were grave faces round the table but he could see that some of them wavered. They agreed that they would like to discuss the matter if the King would give his permission. All gracious charm and tolerance, the King agreed.

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, 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.’

‘The King― against Warwick, Lancaster, Arundel and God knows how many more! Do you want to plunge this war for the sake of that man?’

‘I gave my word.’

‘Then you should have taken more pains to make sure you kept it.’

‘It seemed safe enough. He was well guarded. Warwick came by night with an overpowering force.’

‘You never should have left him. You should have taken him to the castle with you.’

‘I know that now. But at the time it seemed safe.’

Gloucester shrugged his shoulders.

‘I have pledged my lands to the King for his safety,’ pleaded Pembroke. ‘I shall lose everything.’

‘Then mayhap this will teach you to be a better trader next time.’

‘But he was promised safe conduct.’

Gloucester turned away. He could not shut out the sight of Gaveston’s face, the eyes glittering, the mouth slightly lifted at one comer. ‘That Whoreson Gloucester―’

Gaveston would now pay for the fury he had aroused in the hearts of powerful men.

It was their turn now.

Lancaster, Hereford and Arundel had arrived at Warwick Castle.

‘So you have him here,’ said Lancaster.

‘He is in one of the dungeons. He has lost his bombast. He is now full of fear as to what we have planned for him.’

‘So should he be,’ replied Lancaster grimly.

‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Warwick, ‘He must not be allowed to live,’ Lancaster pointed out. ‘Every day he is alive could mean danger. What if the King mustered an army and came to take him? What would our position be then?’

‘We should be fighting against the crown,’ put in Warwick. ‘Civil war.

There was enough of that under John and Henry.’

‘There is one thing to be done,’ said Lancaster. ‘We must pronounce sentence and carry it ont. The man is a traitor. He has stolen the crown jewels. A fortune was left behind at Scarborough. He is under excommunication. He deserves death and at a trial he would be found guilty. My lord, there is one thing we must do. We must carry out the sentence before there is more trouble.’

‘He deserves the traitor’s death.’

‘Hanged, drawn and quartered. Yes, but how? Moreover, he is connected by marriage with Gloucester’s sister which gives him a link with royalty. It is enough that he loses his head.’

‘Who will strike the blow?’ asked Hereford looking from Warwick to Lancaster.

Arundel said: ‘The man who does that places himself in danger.’

‘It is no time to think of that,’ retorted Lancaster sharply. ‘The blow must be struck. He must lose his head.’

‘When?’ asked Arundel.

‘This night.’

‘So soon?’

‘Who knows what tomorrow could bring?’ cried Lancaster. ‘What if the King arrived to take him from us?’

‘There will be no peace in this land while he lives,’ said Warwick. ‘The people will rise against the King if Gaveston goes back to him. They like not this relationship between them. They want him to be with his Queen. They want another man such as his father was― a family man who will give the country heirs.’

‘Great Edward the First gave us our present King. He was great in all things save one— the giving of an heir.’

‘Hush my lord. That’s treason.’

‘Treason― among friends. We know it is all true.’

‘That may be. But let us rid the country of Gaveston and see what comes then.’

‘He must go.’

They all agreed to that. And who should actually strike the blow? That man would be the enemy of the King forever.

They came to a decision. It should be an unknown hand that killed Gaveston. The noble earls would merely be spectators and the men who struck the blows should be humble soldiers whose identity would be lost when they mingled with their fellows.

It was the only way.

‘Come, Gaveston.’

It was Warwick who spoke to him.

‘It is time to go.’

‘To go where?’

‘Whither the Mad Hound leads.’

‘You never forget that, do you?’

‘There are some things which are never forgotten.’

‘You harbour more resentment against me for calling you that than for snatching the championships at Wallingford.’

‘Have done. There is little time for such badinage. You should be saying your prayers.’

‘So you are going to kill me?’

‘You are going to meet your deserts.’

‘And my fair trial?’

‘ I promised none of those things.’

‘You will have to answer to Pembroke.’

‘That will be no affair of yours, Gaveston. You should be praying for your black soul.

‘There is little time for that now.’

‘Tis so. Then use it.’

They took him out of the castle. He now saw the nobles earls on horseback waiting. They were as still as statues cut out of stone.

They sat him on a horse. He savoured the smells and signs of the night. The good earth; the scent of grass, the dark star-speckled sky. He had never noticed their beauty before. He had loved the blue of the sapphire, the rich red of the ruby, the glitter of the diamond, because they had been the symbols of riches and power. Now he wanted to savour other beauties but it was too late.

Where were they taking him? Away from Warwick? Why, he wondered.

The Mad Hound had been eager to take him but perhaps he was not so eager to have a hand in his death.

He noticed then that Warwick was not among them.

It was Lancaster who rode ahead with Arundel. They were going into Lancaster’s estates which bordered on those of Warwick and could not have come more than a few miles.

Were they on the way to Kenilworth?

But no. They had stopped.

He was ordered to dismount. He did so and a troop of soldiers surrounded him.

They walked forward; he with them then. They had come to a hill which he knew from the past. Blacklow Hill. He remembered passing it when he was in Edward’s company. How strange that then he should have had no premonition of this.

The three earls did not follow him. He knew what that meant. They were afraid. They wanted him dead but they did not want to kill him themselves. That was a task for someone else.

This was the moment then.

The soldiers were all around him. He stood at the foot of the hill. He looked back. His last look at the earth: the dark hill before him; the silence of the night broken only by the ripple of a nearby stream. The smells of earth, the beauty of the earth― so much that he had never had time to notice before.

He glanced back at the figures of the earls seated on their horses. The sentinels at the gates of the Earth, crying out to him: No admittance to you, Gaveston. You are banished― banished from life.

Someone had come close to him. He was just in time to see the flash of steel. Then darkness and he was falling― His life had been ended by an unknown hand but those men sitting on their horses, silent, still as stone, were the men who had murdered him.

He could hear a rushing in his ears. Vengance, Vengance, it seemed to say, and then something else― perhaps it was his own voice.

Edward― Edward― this is the end.

Warwick waiting in the castle was afraid of what they had done. They should have waited, given him his trial, for he must surely have been found guilty. But they had taken justice into their hands.

He had captured him, brought him to Warwick Castle and sent word to Lancaster. But he had not gone out with them to Blacklow Hill.

There was a banging on the castle door. It echoed uncannily through the vaulted roofs.

Warwick opened the door. Two men stood there. They were carrying a headless corpse.

‘He is no more, my lord. The Earl of Lancaster has his head. We have brought his body to you.’

Warwick stepped forward and looked at the grisly remains of that once graceful body which had charmed the King.

‘Take it away!’ he cried. ‘Take it from here. I will have nought to do with it.’

‘My lord, where would you have us take it?’

‘Take it―’ He tried to think. ‘Anywhere,’ he cried, ‘but away from here.

‘Take it to the Dominicans of Oxford. They will give it temporary refuge.’

So wild did he look with the foam at his mouth― Gaveston’s mad dog indeed.

The men hurried off. They knew that Gaveston could not be buried in concentrated ground. He had died excommunicate and with all his sins upon him.

Lancaster alone took responsibility for the death of Gaveston. He despised the others for their fear. He had disobeyed the laws. He had filched a fortune from the King. No― Nothing could have saved him.

‘I have no fear,’ said Lancaster. ‘The King will hate me for this but the people will be with me. The Queen will applaud me. I promised her to rid her of this man and I have done so. Why should I fear the King? I have my private army. I am as royal as he is. If the King cannot rule this land, then must others do it for him.’

Thomas Lancaster believed he could boldly admit to the judicial killing of an outlaw and a thief and a man who had threatened the peace of the country.

‘Gaveston is dead,’ said Lancaster. ‘We will go on from there.’