But Rosseletti is there, and she meets with him privately and he tells her all that others will not. The barons have presented Edward with a list of forty-one ordinances; if they have their way, Edward will not be allowed to grant land, go to war or even leave the realm without their consent. His bankers, the Frescobaldi, have been ruined and banished, thus cutting off his source of private funding.
“What does this mean for me?” Isabella asks him.
“Your fortunes are tied to his and his prospects are fraught unless he bring his barons to heel. But unless he sends Gaveston away, they will continue their defiance of him.”
“Because he favours him or because he loves him?”
He blushed at the queen’s forthrightness. “That is not for me to say, your grace.”
She speaks to the servants who say the king is much changed. He spends all his time gambling and drinking. He is in a fury most days. He beat one of the stable boys who was slow to fetch his saddle. It is not like Edward.
That evening he storms into her quarters and sends the servants scurrying out. He reaches into his tunic and pulls out a crumpled parchment. He thrusts it at her, without greeting.
“You have heard what they have done?”
She takes the document and glances at it. “The king must not, the king must not ...” The list of prohibitions is endless.
“Forty one clauses in all. They say I should live more wisely and avoid oppression of the people. Oppression of the people! Which people, Isabella?” She smells wine on his breath and his eyes are unnaturally bright. “They restrict my right to issue pardons. All royal incomes to be paid directly to the Exchequer.” He leans in. “Read Ordinance Twenty.”
She does as he tells her to do. “Because Piers Gaveston has misled and ill-advised our Lord the King, and enticed him to do evil in various deceitful ways ...” She pauses and looks at Edward, who is pacing the hall like a hungry lion. “... that he be exiled for all time and without hope of return as a public enemy of the King and his people.”
“Public enemy! They say he led me to hostile lands - Scotland, where they urged me to go! - that he put the king in danger - is a king not meant to lead his armies? - and that he must be gone from England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales by November. There is scarce a kingdom they do not exclude from their prohibition. I doubt there is a place left in the known world where Perro may now safely abide.”
What can she say to him? Did he not anticipate this?
“Before you celebrate his destruction note that your good uncle has seen fit to attack you as well. He wants one of your ladies banished.”
“Who?”
“Isabelle de Vescy.”
“But why?”
“Because she’s French.”
“She was born in England!”
“Not good enough for Uncle Lancaster. She and her brother are back to Yorkshire and the sheep.”
“What can you do?”
“What might I do? If I do not sign it, they will make war on me and who will stand for me then? Old Hugh Le Despenser is the only one who has not abandoned me.”
“If today brings no hope we should plan for tomorrow.”
“I cannot plan for tomorrow unless I give up Perro. And without Perro what use is tomorrow to me?”
And then, unexpectedly, he throws himself at her feet and buries his head in her lap. She strokes his hair while he weeps. She does not know whether she should feel pleased or horrified. Not far past her sixteenth birthday and already she feels as weary as a crone.
* * * * *
The Ordinances are publicly proclaimed on the twenty seventh day of September in St Paul’s Churchyard and Archbishop Winchelsea announces that anyone who dares violate them will be excommunicate from the Church.
Gaveston leaves on All Saints’ Day for the Brabant. For weeks Edward is inconsolable.
But one morning his mood lifts. He appears at court with a jaunty air, and even greets her with a smile. She goes at once in search of Rosseletti to discover what mischief he has been up to now.
“Gaveston is back in England,” he says.
“Here? In England? How could he be so stupid?” Gaveston has been gone scarce a month. A month!
“He was sighted first at Tintagel, then at Wallingford. He has come with Edward’s full knowledge and consent. The barons have knowledge of it now and have ordered a search.”
Isabella stands up, gathering her skirts. “Where is Edward?”
“It would not be wise to offend the king,” he tells her.
“Really Rosseletti,” she murmurs, though she is ready to burst. “Have you ever known me to lose control of myself?”
“No, your Grace.”
“Nor shall I then,” she says and sweeps from the room.
* * * * *
The King retreats to Windsor for the Christmas season. His high spirits are now explained. She smiles and says nothing.
There are Biblical murals in her apartments, one depicts the parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, which seems a cruel joke. I have been ready for my bridegroom for a long time, she thinks. That night he asks her to leave a candle burning in her bed chamber, and sometime after the bells have rung for Compline the door creaks open and he slips in. This time she wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace, determined to do more than just lie there, wishing for something more.
* * * * *
Gaveston has a wife, Margaret. She is the younger sister of one of her other ladies, Eleanor, and is barely older than Isabella herself. Her first baby is not long to be born, so her husband has clearly not spent every night in the king’s chamber. Isabella feels a kinship with her, because of their unique situation, but she is not easily drawn into conversation.
But one morning, as she is combing out her hair, Margaret bends to whisper in her ear: “The king came to your bed last night,” she murmurs.
“How did you know?”
“The servants gossip about everything. If you sneeze in the Upper Ward of the castle, by the time you come down to the Great Hall someone has fetched herbs and warm honey.”
“There was blood on the sheet this morning. I expect all England will know by Christmas Day that I am no longer a maiden.”
“Did it hurt you?”
“It hurt a little. But he was gentle.”
“You are disappointed?”
“I thought there should be more than discomfort to my wedding night, if that was what it was.” Margaret bites her lip and Isabella senses that she would like to say more. She has already uttered more words this morning than in the past four years. “What is it like ... for you?”
“Piers is a kind man and a good husband, for all that they say about him.” She puts a hand on Isabella’s arm. “Don’t expect more from them than they can give, it will only make you unhappy. At least he does not bull every servant girl in the castle like ...”
“You were about to say “like my uncle Lancaster.” “
“Forgive me. But I think that would be worse.”
There is a commotion at the gate. They go to the window and look down into the cobbled yard. It is Gaveston, returned from his exile. He wears a red cloak with a gold clasp, and a jaunty red hat with an emerald jewel winking in the sun. He looks dapper even as an outlaw.
He leaps down from his horse into the embrace of his king. They laugh and walk arm in arm back into the great Hall, the king calling for spiced wine and beef.
Margaret squeezes her arm. “I only ever see him smile like that when he is with Edward,” she says.
Later she sees them sat together, staring at the Yule log smouldering among its bed of holly, Gaveston on the carpets leaning against his king’s thigh. Margaret is right. It is the only time Edward ever looks content. The wolfhounds are curled around them, all legs and yawning and snoring. The king bends to kiss Gaveston’s head.
Everyone is secure in their affections except the Queen. She might stand under the kissing branch of the mistletoe and its bright red berries all
Christmas Eve and not draw a single glance from dog or man.
Chapter 15
Edward avoids her bed and her person after Gaveston arrives at Windsor. Perhaps he anticipates her petulance.
It is more than petulance; and he cannot avoid her forever.
She finds him sitting in his bathtub. A servant is scrubbing him with rosewater as he sweats in the steam. Gaveston is sitting at the window, watching. Edward’s back is towards her but Gaveston makes a face as she enters to warn him.
“Why have you done this?” she asks him, dispensing with pleasantries.
“I find it relaxing,” he says. “And I was starting to smell.”
“I don’t mean the bath. Why did you bring ...” She glances at Gaveston and he makes an elaborate bow. “... why did you bring him back?”
Edward sends his man scurrying to the door. He leans back in the tub, the sweat pouring down his cheek in rivulets. “The question should be, why did I let him go? My father would never have allowed the barons to dictate to him like this.”
“You are not your father.”
This is the wrong thing to say. Even Gaveston raises his eyebrows at this.
“I am the king of England!” he shouts and stands.
He glares at her, fists clenched at his sides. Hard for a man to look regal or righteous when he stands naked in his tub. Gaveston hands him a towel. Edward hurls it back at him.
Isabella has never seen him naked; their lovemaking to this point has been conducted in candlelight under linen sheets. Her eyes travel the length of him. Even when wet, he is an impressive man. She feels her cheeks burn.
Gaveston widens his eyes in mock horror and grins at her. His expression is so lascivious she wants to slap him. Has he no shame? Flustered she turns on her heel and leaves.
He returns all of Gaveston’s forfeited estates and signs a public proclamation to be read at the Guildhall in London that the good and loyal Piers Gaveston has returned at the royal command, after his exile contrary to the laws of England.
He then orders his sheriffs all over England to fortify their castles and take in provisions and sends to Gascony for more troops. His barons conduct musters of their own. Archbishop Winchelsea finally declares Gaveston excommunicate.
Having thrown his gauntlet in all their faces Edward flees north to Yorkshire. He takes with him his Chancery clerks and cartload of documents. It is clear that he does not intend to return to London with his government anytime soon.
* * * * *
Gaveston takes his wife, Margaret, to York also. By the time Isabella arrives the child is born. Margaret returns to her service and Gaveston finds a wet nurse for the infant.
Isabella hates the castle; she hates the north. Even this late in the winter there is still snow on the north tower. Her apartments are dull and draughty, unlike the vibrant burgundies and royal blues at Windsor and Langley. She misses most of all the hooded fireplace with a plentiful supply of logs from the scullery and charcoal braziers glowing in every room.
Her demoiselles warm the bed sheets with pans of heated charcoal. What she wants is a man to warm them with her.
“Am I ugly?” she asks Margaret. “Is there something about me that does not please him?”
“It is not you. You are beautiful, Isabella.”
“Then why does he not want me?”
“Only Edward can tell you that.”
They flee again, this time to Tynemouth Priory. Edward charges Gaveston with the defence of Scarborough Castle. That night, after he has gone to take up his commission, Isabella leaves a candle burning in her bedchamber.
His joining with Edward doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact, she looks forward to it. “I am so happy you are mine,” she whispers that night as he lies panting on top of her.
He jerks away. “I am not yours!” he hisses and leaves her lying alone in the dark.
But he is in her bed again that following Easter Monday morning when her maidens burst in and take him prisoner. It is a traditional prank; he is prepared for it and wears breeches for when they throw back the covers. He takes it in good humour, laughing along with them as they drag him out of the bedchamber in his nightshirt and tie him to a chair in the kitchen with ribbons, threatening him with their hairbrushes if he moves. Edward shouts that he will die before he will dishonour himself, but then he has his steward pay them all a gold coin to release him. He then calls for hot wine and drinks it with her in front of the fire while the servants prepare the tables for the holy day feast.
When it is over and everyone has left the hall and he is tired from laughing she tells him that she is going to have a baby, a royal son perhaps, and he picks her up and tosses her in the air, laughing out loud. If she could keep this that moment forever, she would slip it in the little silver casket and lock it with the key.
But later that day Gaveston returns from Scarborough with news that the fortifications at Scarborough are ready. That night she sleeps alone once more.
TYNEMOUTH PRIORY
She finds Gaveston patrolling the battlements in his scarlet cloak. He looks gaunt. Perhaps the reality of what they face has hit him at last. He and Edward have been chased around the northern counties by Lancaster until their bones ache. This is not so much a civil war as the corralling of a troublesome horse.
She fastens her ermine cloak more snugly about her and goes outside to join him.
“I am surprised to find you out here,” she says.
“Perhaps you expected me to be with my familiar, sticking pins in a wax effigy of your uncle Lancaster?”
The wind buffets her and she puts out a hand to the cold stone to steady herself. She huddles deeper inside the furs.
“Is any of it true?”
“About my mother being a witch? Of course. Everything they say about me is true.”
“You enjoy being notorious, don’t you?”
“You have all made me so. What I enjoy is baiting you all, out of spite.”
“Is it spite to bring Edward down? Please don’t let him do this.”
“Don’t let him do what, your Grace?”
“Don’t let him lose everything for you. He will, you know, for you.”
“Because that is what he wants.”
Storm clouds gather over the moor. Above them the flag of England whips in the wind. “You hold his destiny in your hands. They will make war on you both and they will not relent until you are dead. Unless you do something to stop it.”
For the first time since she has known him, he does not try to laugh this off. “Would it be different were I his queen? Then the whole world would call him a great hero for defending my honour.”
“But you are not his queen. It is up to you now, Piers. If you love him, prevent this. He has shown his love for you, now you must show your love for him.”
“I would die first,” he says. Or does she imagine it? The wind is fierce up here and it is hard to hear anything that is not shouted at the top of the lungs. She leaves him and returns to the Great Hall and the hearth.
Edward gives Gaveston his orders: he must hold Scarborough against all comers and relinquish it to no one. Edward gives him all the men he can spare, three score at most, and rides with him to prepare the final defence.
He returns a week later to busy himself with raising an army to relieve their situation. But they all stand against him now, Lancaster, Warwick, Hereford, even Pembroke. He tells her he is the most noble man in England for he is the only one who fights for love, not politics. She thinks he is sordid and foolish, but she cannot say this to the king of England, so she keeps her peace and nurses the hurt, privately and meekly, like a small and wounded bird.
Chapter 16
York, June 1312
The child kicks.
He must feel her agitation. She is exhausted from the journey down from Tynemouth, already she feels she is the size of a castle, even to climb the stairs to her bedchamber leaves her breathless.
Lancaster’s army has now chased Edward al
l around the north of England, she has spent most of spring at Tynemouth Priory, with the mice and the draughts, staring at the grey sea. Edward has been forced to run like a felon in his own country. He still has no army to face them with.
Isabella is angry to see him so reduced; angry at Edward for his stubborn refusal to see reason; furious at her uncle Lancaster and the Earl of Warwick for their disobedience. She is a daughter of France and she did not marry the King of England to endure this.
Edward paces the Great Hall, drinks more than is necessary and shouts at the servants. He sends supplies to Gaveston but discovers that they have been intercepted by Pembroke’s army, which now has Scarborough under siege. Gaveston smuggles missives out of the castle, it seems they are reduced to eating cobwebs and rats.
Edward upturns tables and rips down tapestries in his frustration, the most powerful man in England is now powerless.
The final message from Scarborough: Gaveston has sued for terms with Pembroke and has agreed to let himself be taken. He believes the earl to be an honourable man. It was this or starve.
And within days Gaveston is back at York, marched into the Great Hall under guard. The Lord Pembroke stands aside, the king’s subject gives leave for his king to embrace his lover. It is socially awkward for them both, she supposes. How is one meant to behave?
Only after they have done commiserating is Margaret allowed to intrude, and Pembroke then allows Gaveston to hold his son.
She understands now why Gaveston calls him Joseph the Jew, although he does not do it on this occasion. Pembroke is olive skinned with a beak of a nose, though he fervently denies Semitic ancestors. Gaveston has made fun of him in less burdensome times, but never with the venom he reserves for Lancaster and Warwick.
They are three days of negotiating final terms. Pembroke’s soldiery patrol the Abbey while their masters parlay a peace, but when it is done Edward emerges well pleased. There will be a Parliament called for early the next month; Gaveston will be allowed to put his case to the barons, and if nothing is decided Pembroke agrees to escort him back to Scarborough, and allow Edward to supply him with provisions. Until then he will stay with Pembroke at his castle at Wallingford, under guard.
Isabella: Braveheart of France Page 6