The Follies of the King

by Jean Plaidy

  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 brood
ing 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 h
ard 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.’