The Follies of the King

KING NO MORE

Edward was numb with grief. Why was life so cruel to him? First they had taken Gaveston and now Hugh. Why was it his love always brought disaster?

And what now? He was too numb to care.

They were taking him to Kenilworth. His cousin Henry of Lancaster had come to him and told him that he was to be his guest.

Henry had looked at him with compassion. Strangely enough he seemed to understand.

So they rode side by side to Lancaster’s castle of Kenilworth which lay between Warwick and Coventry. Lancaster was proud of the place. Edward’s grandfather, Henry III, had given it to his youngest son and so Lancaster had inherited it.

‘Have no fear, I shall not harm you, my lord,’ he said, and Edward thought how strange it was that a subject should speak to his King in such a manner. He might have been incensed, he might have been apprehensive but he could think of nothing but: Hugh is dead.

He lay in the room which had been prepared for him. There were guards at the door to remind him that he was a prisoner. An ironic situation indeed. A King the prisoner of his Queen!

Oh Isabella, Isabella, he thought. I never really knew you. those years you were so meek; you bore my children. You waited patiently until I had time to spare for you. Gaveston never knew what your real thoughts were. Too late Hugh discovered; and even then I would not believe it. And now Mortimer is your lover. You― Isabella.

She was like her father— Philip the Handsome, ruthless, implacable, feared by all until that final day of reckoning when he lay on his death-bed and knew that the curse put on him and his heirs by the Templars was being fulfilled.

Isabella was cruel. Isabella was ruthless. She hated him. He wondered what she and Mortimer would do now.

The days passed. Lancaster came to him— gentle and apologetic. It is not my fault that you are here, my lord, he seemed to say, I but obey orders.

It was never wise to offend a King. However low he had fallen, who could know when he would come back into power again?

That was a heartening thought. Was that why Lancaster was always respectful? Oh no, it was more than that. Henry was his cousin; they were both royal; men who were close to the throne had the greatest respect for It.

Henry and he played chess together. It whiled away the hours.

‘Henry,’ he asked, ‘how long will you keep me here?’

Henry lifted his shoulders. Doubtless it would be for Mortimer to say.

Mortimer. That upstart from the Marcher country, a man who had been the King’s prisoner and escaped! Oh, what a fool not to have had his head long ago.

But when he looked back, it was over a lifetime of follies. A headless Mortimer would never have escaped from the Tower, would never have become the Queen’s lover, would never have captured the King.

But perhaps Mortimer was merely the tool. She would have found another lover, another man to lead her armies. She was his real enemy, the She-Wolf of France.

He tried to give himself to the game. Even in that he was beaten. He had never been able to plan an artful strategy Lancaster could beat him on the board as his brother had done in life. But Lancaster had come to a tragic end. He had not won in the end.

‘Checkmate,’ said Henry triumphant.

The King shrugged his shoulders. He said: ‘You are a kinder jailer than I might have hoped for, cousin.’

Lancaster rearranged the pieces on the board.

‘I do not forget your royalty, my lord,’ he replied.

‘You have never forgiven me for the fate of your brother,’ said Edward. ‘But I was not to blame. If he had not parleyed with the Scots― he would be alive today.’

‘He was a great man, my lord. His trial was hasty and he had no chance to defend himself.’

‘Let us not go over the past,’ said Edward. ‘It is over and done with. There have been many mistakes. Let us not brood on them cousin. You have been my enemy and it is for this reason that the Queen and her paramour have given me into your keeping. You have done everything you could to preserve your brother’s honour and that I understand. You built a cross for his soul outside Leicester. You proclaimed that miracles had been performed at his tomb and you tried to make a saint of him, knowing full well that the more men revered him, the more they would revile their King.’

‘It was your friendships, my lord, which made the people revile you.’

‘I have been maligned and condemned,’ cried the King. ‘I have lost those whom I loved best. But what I can say is that I have received kindness at your hands and I did not expect it. You and I have not been friends, Henry, cousins though we be. And it is because of the enmity between us that I am put in your care. Yet you show me kindness. It is something which moves me.’

His cousin lowered his eyes to the board.

‘Another game, my lord?’ he asked. ‘Would you wish to have your revenge?’

The King wanted to laugh aloud. His revenge. Yes, he would like to have his revenge― his revenge on the murderers of Hugh and his father. Oh the tortures they had inflicted on that loved body. His revenge on Isabella, the traitoress.

Ah, if only he could move the men and women of his kingdom to the places where he wanted them to be as easily as he could move the pieces on the chessboard!

The Queen rode out in her silken dress adorned with shining gold buttons; her skirt flowed over her palfry, and about her shoulders was an ermine coat.

She looked beautiful and royal. The people of London cheered her. She was their ruler now. It was time the King was set aside. From the day he had worn the crown he had shown himself unworthy. They had always loved the Queen.

She had responded to their admiration; she had shown them clearly that of all the people of England the Londoners held first place in her heart.

Beside her rode her son Edward— his young face stern. He had grown up quickly in the last weeks and was beginning to understand what would be required of him.

She was going to the Tower to receive the members of Parliament who would come to tell her what the decision had been.

Already she guessed it. They would depose the King and young Edward should be proclaimed Edward III. It was what she had worked for! Her son King and she and Mortimer the Regents who should control him and rule the land.

It was like the fulfilment of a dream.

She and Mortimer as they lay in bed the previous night had talked of their coming power. Edward would turn to them for advice and they would govern the land in his name. She often thought how wise she had been to remain meek and compliant until she had her children.

She said: ‘Edward is behaving strangely. He is quiet― too thoughtful.’

‘Oh come, love,’ cried Mortimer, ‘he is such a boy. He regards you as a goddess. You will have no difficulty in making him obey you.’

She allowed Mortimer to believe that she accepted this but she continued uneasy.

Yet how sweet were the cheers of the Londoners in her ears! She was foolish to have these doubts.

The prize was just about to be handed to her. A King who was but a boy and would need a Regent and who should that be but his mother who had raised an army and brought it from across the Channel to depose his father of whom they all wished to be rid?

She entered the Tower. In the royal apartments she and Mortimer awaited the coming of the ministers.

She received them eagerly and their first words sent her spirits soaring.

The Parliament had decided that Edward the Second must be deposed and his first-born son Edward crowned Edward the Third. This had the unanimous agreement of all the barons and the clergy.

Isabella clasped her hands together and tried not to show her jubilation.

‘My son is young yet,’ she said slowly.

‘There will be a Regency, my lady.’

A Regency indeed! The Queen. Who else? And she would choose her dear and gentle Mortimer to stand beside her.

‘The matter has been, given much consideration, my lady. The Parliament will select four bishops, four earls and six barons to form a Regency. It is the opinion that one bishop, one earl and two barons should be in constant attendance upon the young King.’

She could not believe she had heard aright. A Regency which did not include her! What were they thinking of? To whose efforts did they owe the King’s defeat? Who but Isabella had rid them of the worthless Edward?

With admirable restraint she hid her fury.

She dismissed them saying she would impart their decision to the young King.

She went immediately to Mortimer and her rage burst forth.

‘How dare they! I would hang them all. After all I have done. It does not occur to them to name me. Why? Because I am a woman? Is that it? Who raised the army? Who planned for years? Surely there is no one―’ she looked at Mortimer and added, ‘nay two who would be the natural Regents?’

‘My love,’ said Mortimer, ‘this is a cruel blow, but let us plan carefully. It is your son who will decide to whom he will listen. Let them give him his barons and bishops. You are still his mother.’

She held out her hand and he kissed it. ‘How you always comfort me, Mortimer,’ she said.

‘It is my purpose in life, my dearest.’

‘Yes, we shall defeat them,’ she said. ‘You and I will not be set aside for these men.’

‘Assuredly we shall not.’

They sat down on one of the window-seats and he put an arm about her.

‘How beautiful you looked this day in your regal ermine,’ he said soothingly. ‘A Queen in very truth.’

‘But not good enough to be their Regent,’ she said bitterly.

‘Isabella, my love. We shall outwit them all. Do not forget. We have young Edward.’

She nodded but she was not completely at ease. She had begun to have doubts about Edward.

She was right in thinking that the young Edward was becoming apprehensive. He was beginning to understand more of what was going on around him. He could not be proud of his parents and he now knew why people had constantly compared him with his grandfather.

His father had been weak and dissolute, favouring handsome young men and frittering away the kingdom’s wealth in extravagant gifts for them. His mother was living in open adultery with Roger de Mortimer, and they made no attempt to hide it.

He often thought of that brief period when they had stayed at Hainault and he and Philippa had talked together. He had told her a great deal about his perplexities and, although she had been very sheltered from the world and did not understand half those problems which beset him, she had shown him a wonderful sympathy, an adulation almost which had been very sweet to him.

He had told her that he was going to marry her. It was fortunate that there had been some arrangement between his mother and her parents that he should marry her or one of her sisters.

‘Rest assured, Philippa,’ he had vowed, ‘it shall be you.’

She had believed him. Although he was but a few months older than she was and they were only in their fifteenth year there was a resolution about him which she trusted would bring him what he wanted. To her Edward was like a god, strong, handsome, determined to do what was right. She had never met anyone like him, she had said; and he had replied that she felt thus because they were intended for each other.

Strange events were happening all around him. His father was a prisoner. It was wrong surely that a King should be made the prisoner of his subjects. But it was not exactly his subjects who had made him a prisoner. It was his wife, the Queen.

He had been fond of his father as he had been of his mother, for he had always been kind to him, had shown him affection and been proud of him. His mother, though, had charmed him. When she had taken him to France he had begun to feel uneasy because of the trouble about his father. Hainault had been a brief respite because Philippa was there. But since their return to England events had moved fast. There had actually been war between his father and mother and his mother was notorious. The Despensers had been brutally done to death and his father was a prisoner. Wliat would they do to him?

A cold feeling of horror came over him.

‘I like it not,’ he said aloud, ‘and by nature of who I am, I am in the centre of this.’

When his mother came to him with the Archbishop of Canterbury and his uncies the Earls of Kent and Norfolk he was ready for them.

They knelt before him; there was a new respect in their manner; he believed that something had happened to his father.

The Archbishop spoke first. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘the King your father, showing himself unworthy to wear the crown―’

Edward caught his breath. ‘My father is―dead?’

‘Nay, my lord. He lives, a prisoner in Kenilworth. There he is well cared for by the Earl of Lancaster. But because he has shown himself unworthy to govern he is to be deposed. You are the new King of England.’

‘But how is that possible when my father lives? He has been crowned the King of this country.’

‘The crown is too burdensome for his frail head,’ went on the Archbishop.

‘You are to be the King. You must have no fear. You are young and will have a Regency to show you how to govern.’

‘I have no fear for myself,’ said the young Edward. ‘But I have for my father. I would see him.’

‘That, my lord, cannot be,’ the Archbishop told him.

The Queen said: ‘It would only distress him, Edward. It is kinder to let him be where he is. I hear that he is contented enough. More, he is happy to be relieved of the duties of kingship which have been too much for him.’

‘Yet he ruled for many years,’ said Edward.

‘And see to what state the country has come!’ replied the Queen. ‘Edward, you must remember you are young. For a little while you must listen to advice.’

‘It is well that you should be crowned with as little delay as possible,’ added the Archbishop.

Edward looked into their faces. He felt the blood rising to his. ‘I would agree on one condition,’ he said.

‘Condition, Edward!’ cried the Queen. ‘Do you realize what honour is being done to you?’

‘I realize fully what this means, my lady,’ replied Edward firmly, ‘but I will not be crowned King of this realm until I have my father’s word that he gives me the crown.’

There was consternation. The boy had shown firmness of purpose which they had not expected. He stood straight, drawing himself to his full height which was considerable even though he had not yet finished growing; his blue eyes were alight with purpose, the wintry light shone on his flaxen hair. It might have been his grandfather who stood there.

Every one of them knew that it would be useless to attempt to coerce him.

He was going to do what he believed to be right.

They saw that they would have to get the old King’s permission to crown the new one before they could do so.

The January winds were buffeting the walls of Kenilworth Castle. Outside the frost glittered on the bare branches of the trees. It was a break prospect but not so bleak as the feelings of the King as he sat huddled in his chamber in Caesar’s Tower in a vain endeavour to keep warm.

He had heard the ciatter of arrivals in the courtyard below. He wondered what this meant. Every time someone called at the castle he feared the arrival might concern him and even these miserable conditions be changed for worse.

This was an important visit.

Lancaster stood in the doorway. ‘Your presence is required below, my lord.’

‘Who is it, cousin?’

‘A deputation. They are in serious mood. The Bishop of Hereford leads them.’

‘Adam of Orlton,’ cried the King. ‘This bodes me no good then. He was always my enemy. Who comes with him?’

‘Among others Sir William Trussell.’

‘Ay, an assembly of my enemies, I see. Tell me, do the greatest of them all come to Kenilworth to see me?’

Lancaster was silent and the King went on. ‘You wonder who I mean?

Come, cousin. You know full well. I mean the Queen and Mortimer.’

‘They are not here, my lord.’

‘Why do these men come, cousin? You know.’

‘They have not told me their business, my iord. Come, dress now. They are waiting.’

‘And the King must not keep his enemies waiting,’ retorted Edward bitterly.

‘Give me my robe, cousin.’

He threw off the fur in which he had wrapped himselfand put on a gown of cheap black serge— the sort poor men wore in mourning, for he was mourning he knew for a lost crown.

He faced the party— the traitors who no longer showed him the homage due to a King. Leading them were two of his most bitter enemies Adam of Orlton and William Trussell. How he hated Trussell, who had sentenced Hugh to the terrible death which had been so barbarously carried out!

Trussell’s eyes— like those of Adam of Orlton— were gleaming with triumph. This was a moment for which they had been working in their devious ways for many years.

They did not bow to him. They regarded him as they might a low-born criminal.

Then Adam began speaking; he listed the crimes of the King. Events long forgotten were recalled and the blame for them laid at his door. Bannockburn― Would they never forget Bannockburn? How many had been blamed for that!

He lowered his eyes. He did not want to look into those vicious faces. He wondered what they planned to do with him. Not what they had done to Hugh― beioved Hugh. They could not. They dared not. He was still their King.

Their faces seemed to recede and he thought Gaveston was beside him― Gaveston― perhaps the best boved of them all. Gaveston Lancaster had caught him in his arms. He heard his voice from a long way off. ‘The King has fainted.’

He was coming back to reality. The same chamber― the same faces about him. So it could only have been for a moment.

They brought a chair for him. He was so tired. He did not want to listen to them.

Vaguely he gathered that they were telling him that he was to be set aside, his crown taken from him, and that they wanted his consent to do so.

How kind of them, he thought. They wanted his consent! Why? Could they not do with him what they liked? Cut off his head― Take him out and do to him what they did to Hugh― No, he could not bear to think of what they did to Hugh. It haunted his nightmares. Hugh― beautiful Hugh.

‘It would be well for you to give your consent,’ Adam of Orlton was saying.

‘If you do not, who knows what might happen? It could mean that the crown would be lost not only to you but to your family.’

‘My son,’ he whispered. ‘My son Edward―’

‘Would be crowned King at once, if you consented to abdicate.’

‘He is but a boy―’

‘There must be no delay.’

‘My son― he must be your King.’

‘So thought we,’ went on Adam. ‘Renounce your crown and he shall receive it forthwith. Refuse this and who knows what will happen.’

He gripped the sides of his chair. He thought of fair-haired Edward, the boy of whom he had been so proud.

He cried out: ‘I am in your hands. You must do what seems right to you.’

The relief was intense. Sir William Trussell lost no time. He stood before the King to declare as he said on behalf of the whole realm that all the homage and allegiance owed to him as sovereign was now renounced.

Trussell then took the staff of office and broke it in two as a symbol of the dissolution of the royal household.

Edward Plantagenet was now a private person; his rights as King of England had been stripped from him. He felt humiliated and yet he knew that his own actions had brought him to this pass. He was glad his father was not there to see this day.

His voice shook with emotion as he said: ‘I know that it is due to my sins that I am brought to this pass and it is a great grief to me that I have incurred the displeasure of the people.’

His eyes were bright in his ashen face and his voice sounded firmer as he added: ‘But I rejoice that my son Edward is to be their King.’

Neither Adam of Orlton nor Sir William Trussell made any attempt to bow.

He no longer represented the crown; he was an ordinary knight. They owed him no especial respect.

They left him and he sat on a stool and covered his face with his hands.

Lancaster found him thus, and he was moved to pity at the sight of him.

‘Let me help you to your chamber, cousin,’ he said gently. ‘This has been a sad ordeal for you.’

‘Henry,’ Edward replied, ‘I am no longer your King.’

‘I know it,’ answered Lancaster.

‘He broke the staff before my eyes and in such a way, cousin, that I knew to him it was a pleasure.’

‘Rest a while. I will have food and wine sent to you.’

Edward said: ‘My son is King now. Young Edward― He is young yet― only a boy.’

‘Yet old enough to force his will, cousin. He would not take the crown until he had your consent to do so.’

A smile touched Edward’s ravaged face. ‘Is that so then?’ he asked.

‘‘Tis true. He said he must first have your consent and would have none of it without.’

‘Then someone still cares a little for me.’

Edward once more covered his face with his hands. He could see the young boy— tall, so fair, his blue eyes flashing, his mouth stubborn as he knew it could be. He would have faced his father’s enemies as they tempted him with the crown.

His hands were wet with his tears.

‘May God bless you, son,’ he murmured. ‘May you be happier than your father.’

Lancaster led him gently to his chamber where he lay on his bed and, though his black thoughts crowded on him like lowering clouds, there was among them a bright streak of hopefulness.

‘My son, my son,’ he murmured. ‘You care a little for me.’

ESCAPE

THE Winter was passing. Young Edward had been crowned at the end of January by the Archbishop of Canterbury, that Walter Reynolds who had once been a crony of the new King’s father and who had now joined those who were against him. Walter Reynolds had always been a man who was ready to join the side where he could find the better advantage.

The Queen was in good spirits. She might not be Regent but saw to it that she and Mortimer had great influence with the young King.

Sir John of Hainault had returned with his troops to his native land, for they had become restive after being away from home for so long. As for Sir John who had been of inestimable help to her she gave him a pension of four hundred marks a year which he was loath to accept declaring that all he had done had been for love of her.

She was at the height of her power and her beauty, for this had flourished since she had thrown aside the cloak of docility. She often laughed to herself to contemplate how everyone knew of her liaison with Mortimer and yet none raised a voice against it.

Often they talked of this but as the winter passed uneasy thoughts came to her. She discussed these often with Mortimer who attempted to soothe her.

Mortimer was taking every advantage of his position. His success had been even beyond his dreams. All his estates had been returned to him together with those of his uncle who had died in the Tower. Honours had been secured for his family and he himselfhad been given the title of Earl of March. He was virtually king of the realm; all he had to do was please his mistress and that was easy, for she was a passionate woman long starved of that satisfaction which they had found so spontaneously together. The young King had to be handled with care and there were signs lately that he was beginning to fidget in his harness. The Queen noticed it but Mortimer refused to believe there was anything to be alarmed about.

‘He questions everything,’ the Queen insisted.

‘Of course he does. He is very conscious of being King. But he is too young, too unversed in statecraft and the ways of the world. He will be a boy for a year or so yet.’

‘He is not like his father, you know. He is clever. He learns quickly.’

‘My dearest, do not fret about him. We shall know how to handle him when the time comes.’

‘And his father? I worry about him.’

‘Worry about the prisoner of Kenilworth! He will never rise to power again.’

‘But he lives. What if he should rally men to his side?’

‘Edward? My love, you cannot mean that. He is despised by all men. The people are delighted with their young King and their new rulers. They are devoted to you. Have you forgotten how they cheer you when you go into the streets?’

‘The Londoners have always been faithful to me, I know. But can you trust the people? They are for you one day and against you the next.’

‘They have long been faithful to you.’

‘Because they hated Edward’s friends, and he never made any effort to please them.’

‘Come, my dearest, let us think of other more pressing matters.’

Mortimer laughed aloud as he held her dose to him. He knew how to divert her thoughts. She was a woman whose sexual appetites were insatiable and for so long they had been suppressed; now that she had found the mate who was completely in tune with her he could divert her thoughts with amazing ease. Her ambition was great but slightly less so than her desire for Roger Mortimer. He exulted in it, exploiting to the full the power this gave him.

But although for the time her thoughts could be turned in one direction there were occasions when she thought with increasing apprehension of her prisoner husband.

She began to notice as she rode through the streets that the people were less enthusiastic. She even heard murmurings against the newly created Earl of March. Roger was too rapacious. She realized there could be danger when she heard the whisper that it was Gaveston and the Despensers all over again, for the King and his lover had been replaced by the Queen and hers. She fancied too that young Edward’s manner was changing towards her. She believed he was asking those around him questions concerning his father. He was growing up.

Since the coronation he had grown very serious, leaving all his boyish pastimes, studying state papers and acting like a king.

It was all very well for Roger to say that they were in complete control.

They might hold the reins at the moment but their young stead was getting frisky and at times she felt him trying to jerk himself out of his leading strings.

Then her thoughts would go to the prisoner in Kenilworth.

She determined to talk seriously to Roger. She would not allow him to lure her into a sensuous mood. This matter was vital and she was determined to make him see it as she did herself. She was a woman, she said, with a woman’s intuition and she smelt danger in the air.

‘Listen to me, my gentle Mortimer. I have heard that Lancaster and the King grow close together. They are cousins, remember, and Lancaster will not forget tbat Edward was once a king. It is said that they spend long hours talking together. Of what do you think they talk?’

‘Of what did Edward talk to his dear friends?’

‘You cannot compare Lancaster with Gaveston and Despenser. Lancaster is a man of power. He could become like his brother who, you could say, ruled this land at one time. Roger, I want Edward removed from Kenilworth.’

Roger was thoughtful.

‘Yes,’ insisted the Queen. ‘They are together too much. He is not treated as a prisoner. They may well be plotting together. My son will be going to Scotland soon. It is expected of him. They are going to force him to act as his grandfather did and you know how he hammered the Scots. Lancaster must be recalled to join Edward’s army and that means that he can no longer be the custodian of the prisoner king. Come, my dear, tell me whose charge my tiresome husband should be put into.’

Mortimer was thoughtful. Then he put his arm about the Queen and kissed her lips.

‘As usual you are right,’ he said. ‘We must be watchful. Lancaster is too close to him. First we will remove him from Kenilworth. Let the King call Lancaster to confer on the Scottish expedition. I have it. My daughter’s husband Thomas Berkeley shall be the jailer. My daughter’s husband will wish to please me. Edward shall be taken to Berkeley Castle. I can promise you that he will not be treated there as an honoured guest.’

‘As usual, gentle Mortimer, you succeed in calming my fears.’

‘Then,’ said Mortimer, ‘this coming day I shall set this thing in motion. Our prisoner shall be sent to a more rigorous prison where he will find jailers not in the least inclined to be his friends.’

The Queen said: ‘He deserves no kindness. He humiliated me bitterly for many years. If you but knew―’

‘My love, my love, I know full well. He turned from the most beautiful woman in the world to his despicable boys. But it is all over now, Isabella.

Sometimes I wonder whether we could have known the fullness of our joy in each other if we had not had to wait for it.’

She was ready to be soothed, to be made love to.

She exulted in Mortimer.

Edward was glad that the winter was over. His cousin had seen that he did not suffer too much from the cold as he might well have done. In the chamber where they met and played chess there was always a great fire and there were furs for Edward’s bed and others in which to wrap bimself when the wind whistled about the castle walls.

Lancaster was changing, growing fond of his captive. He was beginning to ask himsehf whether it had been such a good exchange of rulers after all. Even in Kenilworth there came rumours of Mortimer’s arrogance, of the blatant manner in which he and the Queen openly lived in adultery. Mortimer was not only the most powerful man in the land, he was fast becoming the richest.

Avarice had been the downfall of both Gaveston and the Despensers. But here was as greedy and grasping a man as had ever gone before.

The more dissatisfied Lancaster grew with the Queen and her paramour the more sympathetic he became towards his pathetic prisoner.

One May day when he had risen from his bed he found that visitors had arrived at the castle. He received them immediately for they came from the court. He was quickly informed that the King wished him to prepare to leave Kenilworth and join him in London. His counsel was needed with regard to the Scottish campaign.

Lancaster was surprised. ‘What of my prisoner?’ he asked. ‘Am I to bring him with me?’

Nay, was the answer. Within the next few days Sir Thomas Berkeley and Sir John Maltravers would be arriving at the castle. They would take over the Earl of Lancaster’s duties.

Lancaster nodded slowly.

He had known that at some time Edward would be taken out of his charge.

He did not greatly care for the task which lay before him of informing Edward that they were to part.

He looked with compassion on the tall thin figure— now almost gaunt, with the dark shadows under the faded blue eyes.

‘Thomas, cousin,’ murmured Edward, ‘they are going to take me away from you.’

‘It was to be expected,’ said Lancaster. I have my duties. I am to join the King.’

Edward closed his eyes and the lines of despair were obvious about his mouth. Then he opened them and the stark fear in them deeply disturbed Lancaster.

‘It is because you have been too kind to me,’ he said fiercely.

‘I am told the King commands me to join him.’

‘And we know who commands the King.’

‘It may be that you will enjoy a change of castles.’

‘Who, cousin?’

‘Berkeley. Thomas Berkeley.’

‘Did he not marry Mortimer’s daughter?’

‘I think that was so.’

‘You see, cousin. I am to be put with my enemies. Berkeley! He was no friend of mine.’

‘His lands were confiscated,’ said Lancaster. ‘I beleive they were bestowcd on Hugh le Despenser.’

Edward shuddered. ‘No friend of mine,’ he murmured. ‘And they will take me from here.’

‘To Berkeley Castle, I doubt not.’

‘Oh cousin, do not go. Do not leave me. Let us stay here together. You have made life bearable for me here.’

‘My dear lord, I must obey the King.’

‘I am your King, Thomas.’

But Lancaster shook his head sadly, and silence fell between them. It was Edward who broke it. ‘Maltravers did you say?’ he asked.

‘Sir John Maltravers. A natural choice because he married Berkeley’s sister.’

Edward shook his head. ‘Another traitor― to me. He fled from England and joined the Queen in France.’

‘It is hardly likely, my lord, that they would choose your friends.’

‘Oh, cousin, a great foreboding bas descended on me.’

‘It is the thought of change.’

‘Nay, cousin. Here I have accepted my fate. I have grown accustomed to your company which has become very agreeable to me. And now― and now― I feel closing in on me, cousin― a darkness, a horror―’

‘My lord, it is this sudden shock. All will be well. When you first came here we were not such friends― In time you and Berkeley and Maltravers―’

Edward shook his head.

‘Oh, cousin,’ he said, ‘pray God to help me.’

Lancaster took Edward’s hand and knelt and kissed it and it was as though Edward had become his king again.

‘I shall pray for you, my lord. Be of good cheer. It may well be that life will be good to you yet.’

But Edward continued to shakc his head. The deepest melancholy had settied upon him.

Lancaster had gone and his new custodians had arrivcd. Maltravers was outwardly insolent, Berkley almost shamefacedly so, as though he could not stop himself remembering that this poor emaciated man had once been his King.

‘Rouse yourself,’ said John Maltravers. ‘There is a journey to be made forthwith. Should he be bound with ropes, think you, Thomas?’

‘Let be,’ replied Berkeley. ‘He is hardly in fit state to run away from us.’

He who had once been a king before whom men bowed was now talked of in his presence as though he were a piece of merchandise to be moved whichever way suited his possessors. Humiliation indeed! But he was beyond humiliation. The terrible fear which had come to him when Lancaster had told him he was going would not leave him. He feared these men.

To Berkeley Castle they rode. How different it looked from when he had last seen it. Then he had ridden in as the King and there pageants and festivities greeted him. How different now! Gloomy! Foreboding! An impulse came to him to shout that he would not enter. Let them kill him here― on the spot. He would not go inside that stone-walled fortress. His whole being cried out against it. He wanted to turn back to Kenilworth, to beg them to send his cousin Lancaster back to him.

Maltravers jerked his head as he might to a groom.

‘Why the hesitation?’ he cried. ‘You waste our time, Edward Plantagenet.’

How they loved to show him that he who had once been their King was no longer of account!

He entered the outer court and went under the machiolated gatehouse. He wondered if he would ever come out a free man.

His horse was taken from him— a poor miserable creature to denote his state and the contrast between it and the steeds ridden by his captors was pathetic. Maltravers laid ungentle hands on him and hustled him forward. ‘This way,’ he muttered.

High-born Lancaster had never shown him such disrespect. He must now think of his days at Kenilworth as happy ones.

He was in the baronial hall— a fine place at the end of which was the chapel.

‘I would like to say a prayer,’ he said. ‘Allow me to go to the chapel and kneel before the altar.’

‘You can pray in your room,’ said Thomas Berkeley.

Maltravers sneered: ‘You should have thought more of praying when you had the time. You could have knelt before your altars then instead of before little Hugh.’

They were determined to torment him. He knew they would be cruel jailers.

He was mounting the great staircase leading to the keep and passing along a gallery when they came to a room which was heavily locked and barred.

‘Your new palace, my lord,’ said Maltravers with a mock bow.

Berkeley unlocked it and the door swung open with a creak suggesting it was long since it had been used. It was dark. The only light which came into the room was from a slit high in the wall. It was narrow with enough room for a man to get his arm through, nothing more. On the floor lay a straw pallet; there was a stool and a small wooden chest which would serve as a table.

‘You cannot mean to lodge me here! cried Edward.

‘The man is ungrateful,’ cried Maltravers turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Berkeley looked uneasy.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it has been chosen as the room you shall occupy while you are here.’

Edward shivered and said no more.

They left him and he heard the key turn in the lock. This was abject misery.

He knelt down and prayed. ‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘let me die― now. Let this wretchedness end. God help me.’

He rose from his knees and lay on his straw pallet. And then it seemed that God answered his call for help for he began to think of his son. That dear boy had loved him. It was true he himself had neglected the child. There had never seemed to be time to concern himself overmuch with children in the schoolroom. Hugh had demanded so much of his attention. But he had always shown his son love and affection. Edward could not know that his father was being treated thus. He would never allow it.

Hope had entered the dismal room.

Edward, the King, would save him. If he could but know what was happening to his father he would come and rescue him.

If he could only get word to Edward. Meanwhile he was here in Berkeley Castle in the hands of men who hated him.

And how they hated him! It was their pleasure to heap indignity upon him.

Maltravers was the worst. Sometimes he thought he detected a gleam of pity in Berkeley’s eyes and when he visited him without Maltravers he behaved almost humanely. The discomfort of his room was intense. Fortunately it was summer.

He did not think he could live through a winter in such quarters. But perhaps by then Edward would have come to save him. If he could only get a message to his son!

The food they brought him was almost inedible— the leftover slops from the platters of the serving men, he believed. They brought him cold muddy water from the moat in which to shave himself and Maltravers had brought with him a wreath of ivy to place on his head to resemble a crown.

He had steeled his mind against their mockery.

He had always enjoyed physical health. Like his father he had in his youth been full of vigour. He had preferred the outdoor life to study. So had his father but he had never let that preference prevent the attention to state matters and the study of documents which were part of a King’s duties.

Lying on his bed, drifting back into the past, he knew he had failed miserably. He knew he deserved to lose his crown, but not this degradation. No, no man whatever his sins should suffer thus.

He could not eat the foul food they sent him. Sometimes he thought of Kenilworth as a kind of paradise. So it had been in comparison.

If only Lancaster were here that he might talk to him― He would not have cared what they talked of as long as they talked.

The odour of the food on the platter sickened him. He longed for someone to take it away.

He lay on his straw and closed his eyes.

There were voices in his room.

‘Perhaps we should send for a priest.’ That was Berkeley.

‘A priest! What matters it? Let him go unshriven to hell!’ Maltravers indeed.

‘Nevertbeless I will send a friar to him. No man should be denied such a privilege on his deathbed.’

‘Who would have thought he could have lived so long? He has the strength of an ox.’

‘He is like his father. They are giants, these Plantagenets.’

‘If his father could see him now―’

‘Perhaps he does, Maltravers.’

‘You are nervous, Thomas. You always have been. You can never forget, can you, that he was once a king?’

‘I am going to send a friar to him.’

‘If you wish it. I would save myself the trouble of sending for him.’

There was quiet in the room.

So they had gone and he was near to death— so near it seemed that Berkeley was going to send a friar to him.

I welcome death, he thought. If I went to hell it could be no worse than this.

I have seen Satan himself in Maltravers. I have touched the bottom. I can go no deeper.

Edward, my son, you will come for me one day. If you knew what they were doing to your father, you would not allow this to happen to me.

Edward, come to me, before it is too late.

Someone was kneeling by his bed. A cool band was on his brow.

‘Are you streng enough to pray with me, my lord?’

‘Who are you?’ asked Edward.

‘I am Thomas Dunhead of the Dominican Order.’

‘So you have come to pray for me?’

‘And to pray with you.’

‘I thank you. I have need of prayers.’

‘So think I, my lord. Let us pray for your return to health.’

‘Stay,’ murmured Edward. ‘If I return to health what is there for me? It is better for me to die. I am half way to death it seems and cannot have much farther to go.’

‘Life is God’s gift. We must wait until we are called to abandon it. Until that time comes it is our duty to cling to it, to preserve it, and to live it in that manner whch best pleases God.’

‘You are a free man, Friar Thomas.’

‘Let us pray together,’ said the friar.

‘Shall you come to me again?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘If I am still here.’

‘You must be. Your sins are many and you will need time to earn remission.’

When the friar had gone Edward felt better. It was comforting to have contact with human beings.

The next day the Dominican came again. When they were alone together from his robes he brought forth meat and bread.

‘I have brought food for your body as well as for your mind,’ he said. ‘You are in need of nourishment if you are going to live long enough for repentance.’

Edward took the food and ate it ravenously.

‘That is well,’ said the friar. ‘I will bring more tomorrow. And we will work together to save your soul.’

And the next day he came again.

They prayed at first and then the Dominican said: ‘I have talked with my brother Stephen of your state. He is a bold fellow. He has many friends. When they heard of what was happening to you here, they were enraged, for they know that your Queen lives in adultery with Roger de Mortimer.’

‘It is all so remote to me,’ said Edward. ‘I scarcely ever think of it now.’

‘The people are growing restive. My brother Stephen loves a cause, providing he thinks it a good one. My lord, when your strength is built up―’

‘Yes?’ said Edward slowly.

‘My brother is thinking of a plan of rescue.’

‘God is answering my prayers,’ said Edward. ‘And my son― could you speak to my son?’

‘It would not be easy to approach the King. He is surrounded by men who are your enemies. His mother and Mortimer will let none approach him. My brother, who is a born conspirator, says that it would be better for you to escape from the castle first. Then you could rally supporters and let the King know where you were.’

‘Am I dreaming?’ asked Edward. ‘I do sometimes, you know. Then I find it difficult to know whether I am in the past or the present.’

‘This is no dream. We have friends outside. Now you must feign to be very sick. It must not be known that I bring you nourishment. When the time is ripe I shall come wearing two hooded robes. In the cell I shall take one off which you shall put on. We shall leave the castle together. Before this though I shall bring one of my brothers so that the guards are accustomed to seeing two of us. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘Yes, indeed I do.’

‘You must feign sickness. If they think you are too ill to rise from your straw they become careless. The doors are left unlocked until after I have left. It is possible that we can bring about your escape.’

‘If you were discovered―’

‘It would cost me my life, I know. I should lose it most barbarously through the traitor’s death. But then the sooner I should come to heaven. It may be that God has chosen me as his instrument. He cannot wish that adulterous pair to rule our country.’

‘If I escape from here I shall never forget you.’

‘My brother and I do not work for rewards but for the glory of God and the suppression of evil.’

‘I can do it,’ said Edward. ‘I can see it is the answer to my prayers. I shall go from here and I shall see my son again. When I look on his dear face and see the compassion there for his father I shall know that God has taken me into His care once more.’

He was growing stronger. Such was his constitution that it responded quickly to the nourishment Friar Thomas Dunhead brought to him. He drew new strength from the knowledge that he was not deserted. He had some friends in the world.

Conspiracy was like new life to him. He would do it. It was not the end. He and Thomas Dunhead would walk out of this castle together. He exulted to think of what he would do when he was free.

Edward, my son, my son! You will come to your father’s aid.

And then, all he wanted now was to live in quiet, peace and dignity.

It was not difficult to deceive Berkeley and Maltravers. They did not want him to die, it seemed. If he did they would be deprived of their post and their fun. Perhaps he should not think that of Berkeley for Berkeley was showing himself possessed of a conscience. Now that Edward’s sense of perception was increasing he could see that Berkeley had no love for his task and that his repulsion for it was growing. He was not such a man as Maltravers.

So he lay on his straw during the day and waited for the moment when he should walk out of the castle.

Stephen came with his brother. Dressed as a Dominican he was allowed into the prison chamber. They must have thought he was very close to death, thought Edward.

Stephen had an exuberance his brother lacked. His eyes glowed with the love of adventure.

He thought it would be dangerous for one friar to enter and two to go out.

Some of the guards might be observant. Then the whole plan would be wrecked.

He would come with his brother in the robes of a Dominican. Underneath these he would be dressed as a scullion. In the room he would give Edward his robe and Edward should go out of the castle with Thomas. He would slip out of the room in his scullion’s clothes so that he might not be noticed. They would arrange the bed so that it appeared that Edward was in it. Then the escape might not be noticed until the next day.

It seemed a good plan if it worked.

Finaily the day came. The two men entered the room. They knelt and prayed for a while. Then Edward put on the robe and he and Thomas walked out of the castle without protest. Stephen as the scullion left soon after.

Less than a mile beyond the castle, horses were waiting.

To feel the fresh air intoxicated Edward. He felt suddenly young and strong again, full of hope.

‘It is over,’ he cried. ‘I have come through hell. God is with me.’

He rode between the brothers Thomas and Stephen.

‘To Corfe Castle,’ said Stephen. ‘There you will be received, my lord, by your friends. Once It is known that you have escaped from your captors there will be many to rally round you. The people are weary of rapacious Mortimer and the sinful Queen.’

‘And the King―’

‘The King is but a boy but there are signs that he is wise beyond his years and he likes not his mother’s conduct. He is displeased with Mortimer― Everything will be different soon, my lord.’

‘I would not wish to be put back on the throne,’ said Edward. ‘I accept my unworthiness. But if I could but see my son― if I could do homage to him as England’s King― I should be content.’

Corfe Castle rose before them. One of the strongest castles in the kingdom set there on the peninsular of Purbeck, impregnable, menacing to enemies, guarding the land.

‘Henceforth I shall always love Corfe Castle,’ said Edward.

The gates were opened. The party rode in. What a different reception this was.

‘How can I ever thank you?’ cried Edward.

‘We but did our duty,’ answered Thomas Dunhead.

‘My first desire is to send a message to my son,’ said Edward. ‘It shall be done. First we will rest awhile and then we shall take your message. Stephen and I will take it together.’

‘I thank God for his mercy,’ said Edward.

They partook of food and wine and Edward was taken to the chamber which had been prepared for him.

He could not help but compare it to the misery of Berkeley.

‘We shall leave at dawn,’ said Thomas.

‘I know my son will soon be with me,’ replied Edward.

He fell into a deep sleep. It was light when he awoke. Something had awakened him. He had been prodded. He could feel the sharp pain in his back.

He opened his eyes.

It was a nightmare. It could not be true. Fate could not be so cruel.

Standing by his bed were Berkeley and Maltravers.

‘My lord’s attempt has come to naught,’ said Maltravers in a tone of mock concern.

‘What happened?’ cried Edward starting up.

‘It was not without its shrewdness, that plot,’ went on Maltravers, talking over him, ‘but we were not so easily deceived. The empty bed was discovered almost as soon as Edward Plantagenet had left. He must think we are fools at Berkeley. We discovered the direction in which he had fled and here we are at Corfe to continue taking good care of him.’

Berkeley said almost gently: ‘We have our duty to perform, you will understand, my lord.’

‘We have got the Dominican. In the short time left to him doubtless he will regret his recklessness.’

‘His brother has escaped,’ added Berkeley.

‘But not for long,’ said Maltravers. ‘It will be the gallows and the traitor’s sentence for them. Mayhap they will regret their folly when the rope is cut and the fire applied to their entrails.’

Edward shivered and Berkeley said: ‘We shall await orders, my lord. In the meantime we shall stay here.’

So he lay on his bed and despair enveloped him.

It seemed to him that God had deserted him.

MURDER AT BERKELEY CASTLE

THE Queen was frantic.

‘Think what might have happened. He might even have raised men to support him!’

‘He could never have done it,’ declared Mortimer. ‘He might have sent word to the King.’

‘But he did not, my love. And he must never have a chance to come so near to it again.’

Isabella looked at him, her beautiful eyes brilliant with the excitement which burned within her. There was something in the way Mortimer spoke which told her that his thoughts were the same as hers.

In such a case as this there was one way and one way only.

While Edward lived there would be danger and the older the King grew and the less popular the Queen and her lover became, the greater the danger.

Mortimer wondered what Edward’s revenge on him would be if the tables were turned and he held the power.

Mortimer knew it would be the traitor’s death.

They must not be squeamish. It had been obvious to him for a long time— and it must have been to Isabella too— that there was one course of action open to them.

The King must die.

They did not need to say the words. They understood each other’s minds too well.

‘Your son-in-law is too gentle,’ she said.

‘I know it well.’

‘Then he should be removed.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘Berkeley is hampered by his conscience. He cannot forget that Edward was once his King.’

‘Then he is no man to have charge of him.’

‘I want them to go back to Berkeley. Berkeley is the place. My son-in-law shall take him back.’

‘And then―’

‘I shall find some pretext to remove Berkeley and send another man to help Maltravers.’

‘Who?’

‘I am turning it over in my mind. Gurney perhaps, Thomas Gurney. There is a man who will work well for money and the prospect of advancement.’

‘My dear,’ said the Queen quickly, ‘it must not look like murder. There must be no wounds.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘You are right as ever. A slow death lack of food, lack of fresh air― despair― these should be our weapons.’

‘But we cannot wait too long. Edward is restive. But for the Scottish matter, he would want to see his father. Gentle Mortimer, we cannot afford to wait.’

‘Nor shall we. ‘Ere long I promise you this burden shall be lifted from us.’

‘Never forget, it must seem as though it were an act of God.’

‘So shall it,’ Mortimer promised her.

So he was back in Berkeley― not the same room this time. They had chosen one over the charnel house. The stench was nauseating. The food they brought him was inedible. Although he grew weaker his strength held out and he astonished his jailers by his grip on life.

Maltravers told him how his friend the Dominican had died.

‘Quite a spectacle! They strung him up and cut him down alive―’

‘I do not wish to hear,’ replied Edward.

‘But, my lord, you are no longer in a position to decide what you will and will not hear. It is my wish to tell you how your dear friend died.’

‘Have done,’ muttered Thomas Berkeley. ‘It is a pointless matter. The Dominican died bravely― leave it at that.’

Yes, thought Maltravers, it was time Berkeley went. That night Berkeley came into the room.

‘I have come to say good-bye,’ he told Edward.

Edward seized his hand. ‘No, no. You must stay with me.’

‘I have orders from the court to leave you. Another will be taking my place.’

‘Oh no― they are taking you away from me because you are the only friend left to me.’

‘Oh, my lord,’ cried Berkeley, ‘I will pray for you.’

‘It is strange,’ said Edward, ‘that it was only when you became my jailer that you were my friend.’

Berkeley did not speak. His emotion was too strong for him. He had deplored the conduct of the deposed King. He had been one of those who had worked to bring him down. But he must have pity for the man and he was convinced that none should be treated as he had been, no matter what his crimes.

His instincts cried out against it; and he was filled with misgivings because he knew that this was why he was being withdrawn from his post. The Queen and her lover would have no mercy.

He knelt before Edward and kissed his hand as though he were taking leave of his King When he had gone blank despair came to Edward.

He thought of the brave Dominican being tortured; the only relief he felt was that Stephen had escaped. Lancaster had been taken from him and now Berkeley. And it was because these were humane men.

Isabella had sent for Sir Thomas Gurney. Mortimer was with her when the man arrived.

‘Go at once to Berkeley Castle,’ said the Queen. ‘You are to take Sir Thomas Berkeley’s place. He will have left by the time you arrive.’

Thomas Gurney bowed.

‘You understand the position well,’ went on Mortimer. ‘The late King is an encumbrance to the good of the country. He is in a weak state. There can be no doubt that his days are numbered. It would be a blessing to bring him to his end.’

Gurney bowed. He understood that his task was to expedite Edward’s departure.

‘There must be no sign that the King has been helped to his death,’ said the Queen. ‘No outward violence. Such could rouse the people to revere him. You know how they are all seeking martyrs.’

‘I understand, my lord, my lady,’ said Gurney.

‘We shall not forget those who are of service to us,’ replied Mortimer.

So Sir Thomas Gurney took his leave and with all haste left for Berkeley.

Edward hated the man as soon as he saw him. He was another such as Maltravers. He knew they meant him ill.

He would lie in his bed at night and listen to footsteps waiting for them to come in and kill him.

For that was what they were going to do. He was taking too long to die and they were impatient. He saw that in their faces. In the morning they came in to look at him and he would pretend to be asleep.

‘It would seem he has made a pact with the devil,’ grumbled Maltravers. ‘He has the constitution of an ox.’ Maltravers had picked up the stool and seemed about to crash it down on Edward’s head.

‘Have a care.’ That was Gurney. ‘You know the orders. No sign of physical ill treatment. A blow from you could cost you your head.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Maltravers and Edward heard him put the stool down.

‘They are strong, these Plantagenets,’ murmured the new jailer Gurney.

So they insulted him and brought him muddy water to drink and food which cattle would have refused. But weak as he was he still lived on. There was a mischievous tenacity in him. He was not going to die to please them.

The messenger had risen with all speed from the Marcher land which had been restored to Mortimer since his return to England. He had urgent news for his lord.

As soon as he was admitted to Mortimer’s presence he threw himself on his knees for one always feared powerful men when bad news was brought to them.

Perhaps in this case the great Mortimer, now virtually ruler of England, would reward his good servant.

‘My lord, lord, I have lost no time. You will want to know that your enemy Sir Rhys ap Griffith is calling men to his banner. He is urging them to fight for the true King who now lies languishing in a prison.’

‘By God,’ cried Mortimer, ‘I should have guessed Rhys ap Griffith would make trouble if he could. What response does he get?’

The messenger looked as though he would rather not tell and Mortimer shouted: ‘Have no fear. I would know all.’

‘Many Welshmen are gathering to his banner. They are saying evil things of you, my lord. They are saying they will free the King. I had thought you should know.’

‘You did well to come to me,’ said Mortimer. ‘I tell you this; the upstart Rhys will find ere long that he has led himself and his followers into trouble.’

‘Would my lord give me orders?’

Mortimer was thoughtful. ‘Go back,’ he said. ‘Watch and send news to me of how he fares.’

When the messenger had gone he was thoughtful. No army Rhys ap Griffith could raise could have a chance against his and Isabella’s. It was not the thought of that petty force which disturbed him.

It was the growing support for the King throughout the country.

When he and Isabella had come to England it had seemed the entire country was behind them. Now there was murmuring. First the Dunhead affair. That had been a warning. If that had succeeded and Edward had established his head-quarters somewhere he might have rallied men to his cause. Thank God it had been frustrated before its fruition. And now this enemy was attempting to raise the one-time King’s stanclard in Wales. What if men started doing that all over the country?

It would not be wise to take an army to Wales and crush Rhys ap Griffith.

That would set others following his example. There was one thing which must be done and that quickly.

The reason for rebellion must be removed. Why would he not die? He had been subjected to the utmost discomfort; he had been almost starved, set above the charnel house at Berkeley, the stench which should have carried off a sick man by now.

But Edward lived on.

They had been gentle with him. Of course they had. It would be unwise for him to be seen to be murdered. Heaven knew what retribution would follow those who murdered a king.

They would be haunted by fear for the rest of their lives. Edward must die― but by natural causes.

He must be removed in a manner so skilful that all would believe he had passed naturally away.

But there must be no delay. They had prevaricated too long. They must act promptly now.

He would send for a man he knew— a man who had made a profession of murder, a man who was so skilled at the job that he could produce death by violence and none be able to detect a sign of it.

No, on second thoughts, he would not send for the man. This was too private a matter. He would go and see him and tell him what must be done.

Days merged into night and night into day. It was dark in his room and he was scarcely aware of the coming of the dawn. He had recovered a little. He had a purpose in life. They wanted him to die and he was determined not to.

They had done all they could to impair his health. The smell from below was so obnoxious that at first it had made him retch, but a man can grow accustomed to most things. He noticed it less now. He dreamed of banquets when he had sat side by side with Gaveston or Hugh and imagined that the foul food they sent him was some special dish which one of his dear boys had concocted for him.

He was not going to die to please them.

They watched him daily. He missed Berkeley, Berkeley would have changed towards him as Lancaster had. He and Berkeley would have become friends if left alone. He would have been given fur covers for his bed, a fur wrap, a glowing fire, a game of chess. They had known this so they had sent Berkeley away.

Maltravers and Gurney remained. There would never be any friendship between them and himself.

A dark shadow had entered the castle.

There was a third man. They called him William Ogle. What was there about that man? He walked softly with a cat-like tread. He laughed a great deal.

It was loud, mirthless laughter. It began to worry Edward.

When darkness fell he was aware of the shadows. He had nightmares in which William Ogle suddenly appeared in the darkness of the room.

Whenever Ogle was in the room, a strangeness came over Edward. His whole body felt as though it was covered in crawling ants. He shivered though his body felt on fire.

That was the effect William Ogle had on him.

Yet the man was respectful— more so than Maltravers and Gurney, calling him my lord and bowing now and then.

There is an evil about that man, thought Edward. I hope he will not stay here long.

Night. Footsteps in the corridor. Edward lay on his face breathing deeply.

The three men came into the room. One carried a lantern. They stood for a few seconds looking down on the sleeping man.

In the open doorway a brazier threw out a faint light and there was a smell of heating iron.

William Ogle was clearly in command.

He beckoned them close to him.

‘Is all ready?’ asked Maltravers.

Ogle nodded.

‘Remember. Your hands must not touch him. There must be no bruises.

Bring the table here and place it over him and hold it so that he cannot move.

Quickly now― while he sleeps. He must not be touched. Those are orders. No outward sign.’

Silently the two men lifted the table and placed it over Edward so that its sides pinned him to his bed.

He awoke and thought this was one of his nightmares.

He was naked. They had taken his robe. He caught a glimpse of Ogle approaching the bed and in his hand was a long spit glowing red hot.

And then such agony as no man had ever dreamed of. The red hot spit was inserted into his body.

He screamed violently as the fearful instrument of torture and death penetrated into his organs.

‘Think of Gaveston,’ cried Ogle. ‘Think of little Hugh. Think of them, my lord― Think of them―’

Edward tried to struggle but the table was pinning him down. His screams were so loud that they penetrated the thick walls of the castle. Everyone within those walls that night must have heard him.

‘He can’t last long,’ said Ogle, and even Maltravers and Gurney were shaken.

Edward was no longer screaming; his breath was coming in long tortured gasps.

‘His inside will be a charred mass by now,’ said Ogle. ‘And there will be no mark on his body for any to see. The spit is protected by horn so there will not be a hint of a burn even.’

He seemed proud of his handiwork.

Edward lay still now. Ogle withdrew the spit. There was no movement from the body as he did so.

‘Take off the table now,’ said Ogle. ‘There will be not a mark on his body.

No sign of violence, no bruise, no burns. None will know that his intestines have been burned away.’

The table was set down. Neither Maltravers nor Gurney wished to touch the man. It was the experienced murderer who did that. He turned him over and gave a gasp as he did so.

‘Bring the lantern nearer,’ he commanded.

The three men stood at the bedside, looking down on the still dead face on which was an expression of terror and agony such as they had never before witnessed.

The features were set in that horrible grimace of pain. Nothing could have more clearly proclaimed that Edward the Second had died the most terrible, violent and cruel death which man could devise.

‘He died in his sleep,’ the said, ‘It was a peaceful ending.’

There was no mark of violence anywhere on his body. But that expression on his face was clear for all who beheld it.

The three murderers conferred together.

‘You said there would be no sign,’ complaincd Maltravers.

‘How was I to know it would show on his face?’ grumbled Ogle.

He had only obeyed orders, he said. So had they all but they thought it wise to slip quietly out of the country and wait for the outcome.

The Abbot of Gloucester came to the castle and took the body away. It would remain in his care until a stately funeral could be arranged. Throughout the country the people were talking of their late King. What had happened to him? There was some mystery about his death.

Was his wife not living in adultery with her powerful and avaricious paramour?

The young King was fast assuming his responsibility. He had been guided too long by his mother and her lover.

There were questions he wanted to ask. Where were those who had held his father prisoner? Why had they left the country? There was so much he wanted to know. On all skies there were scandals concerning his mother. He was breaking free of his bonds. There was so much he had to discover and he was determined to learn.

The storm was rising and the storm would grow big.