Harlot Queen (10 page)

Through the countryside rode the King, his new Chancellor with Great Seal and all his Chancery tagging at his heels, the judges with all their clerks, and whatever high official his whim saw fit to command, seeking to blind the people with an empty show of power.

He went on making a show of defiance. He was wasting what treasure he had left, giving it away with both hands; and upon the absent Gaveston he bestowed more grants, more privileges. It was as though he sought deliberately to worsen matters between himself and Parliament.

The King was for Scotland. To put down rebellion, he declared.
He cannot keep from his sweetheart,
his enemies said. The most part of the barons were left behind; they had refused to follow him.

‘If I were King, by God’s Face I’d not endure it!’ Isabella cried out.

‘And how would you remedy it?’ Queen Margaret asked.

‘I’d not need remedies. I’d carry myself so that the situation could never arise. But the King, it seems, cannot learn.’

‘How you might have carried yourself, I do not know! How you carry yourself now, I know very well. Unseemly. Remember, Madam, you speak of the King!’ Margaret said, sharp with her fears. For the girl was right. But if the King were not clever enough, mightn’t the girl be… too clever? There were signs of change in her. In spite of that innocent air, her judgments were growing sharper, harsher. There was a suggestion of slyness, too; a watchfulness to seize her chance. But there was nothing gained by antagonising her; and she had plenty to put up with. ‘Forgive me, Madam niece, but I grieve for the King.’

‘Then grieve for me, also! He leaves me that he may run after his sweetheart!’ Isabella lifted a white and furious face. ‘Christendom laughs at him. And at me… at me! Nigh on three years married
—married,
God save the mark! Yet I’m neither maid nor wife and there’s plenty to call me barren. And I must endure their insult and their laughter!’

Together they watched the royal train ride out—baggage and servants for the King’s comfort, lions and Genoese fiddlers for his amusement, captains and forces for the business in hand. He had kissed his Queen Farewell with less warmth than he had shown his step-mother—he knew well his Queen’s deep desire that the barons should make an end of Gaveston. He had bidden the older woman look well to the younger.

‘Yes, look to me well!’ Isabella cried out, the door scarce closed upon him. ‘If he drive me far enough there’ll be none to hold me. For, mark this, Madam Aunt, I cannot go on like this for ever! I’m no barren tree. If my husband give me no chance to prove it I’ll make my own. I’ll take a lover. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. And never tell me it’s treason and wickedness! It is a wife’s right to have her husband for her body’s comfort and to give her children. I cannot nor will I go hungry for ever!’

The second time she’d made that threat! Yet she would not carry it out lightly, of that Margaret was sure. She must be even more desperate before she took a lover—her own pride must forbid; she would refuse, body and soul, a child not wholly royal. But if Edward drove her far enough, if she were desperate enough…

Margaret sighed deeply; the matter was beyond her wits.

The King and his armies were moving ever north. Daily the messengers rode in. Wherever the lord King passed he was greeted with joy. So it would be, Isabella thought, remembering his handsome looks, his agreeable manner, his training in kingly courtesy. In that charm they would forget the promises broken.

The King was over the Border; he was at Linlithgow.

‘A dreary place,’ Madam Queen Margaret said. ‘I remember it well. At best it’s bleak enough but in this weather—!’ She turned from the window and the Thames sullen beneath a heavy mist, back to the bright fire and the gay tapestries. ‘The King is right. It is better for you at home.’

‘Does he leave me for my good—or for his own pleasure? As for himself, he might as well be here for all the good he does! He swore to flush the Scots out of their rat-holes; but does he offer battle? No. But he amuses himself with his beasts and his fiddlers; and at night, no doubt, lies snug with his sweetheart!’

‘Niece, you are unjust. Some harrying of the Scots there has been; you know it as well as I. And who led the forces? Who but Gaveston! A good soldier, very brave; my husband that was the first captain in Christendom told me so.’

Isabella said nothing to that. The man was brave and daring. She must, to her innermost self, confess to some grudging admiration. It did not make her love him better.

But for all Gaveston’s daring there was nothing gained. They had moved to Berwick—and still less pretence of fighting; nothing but skating and feasting and all winter joys.

In February Henry of Lincoln, Regent and the King’s loyal friend, died.

‘Uncle of Lancaster, I grieve for you!’ Isabella said very courteous—and no sign of grief upon either of them. For the old man’s death had taken from the King a powerful and true friend. Lancaster it had lifted to the long desired seat of power. Now, as well as Lancaster, Leicester and Derby, he had the earldoms of Lincoln and Salisbury. He was premier earl now… and Gaveston’s bitterest enemy.

‘Now,’ Isabella told Margaret, all joyful, ‘my uncle of Lancaster will make an end of Gaveston!’

‘Do not count over-much on Lancaster! He’s, a man of power… on the outside. But, I know him well; there’s a core of weakness within him. When all goes well, he’s a lion; show him a fierce front and he may well turn tail. Or, his pride insulted, he may, sulk in his tent and let his chance go by!’

‘Between husband and uncle I am like to be well-served,’ Isabella said, bitter.

From Berwick the King sent to appoint Gloucester Regent—Gloucester young and very inexperienced. Lancaster took it for the insult it was. Edward’s a fool, Isabella thought. He should be taking Lancaster by the hand; but no, he must needs drive him further. She was not alone in thinking so.

Winter had gone and spring and now it was early summer. And still the King diverted himself at Berwick, hunting and hawking and drinking eternal brotherhood with Gaveston.

June. The King was coming home; at long last coming home. Reluctant he had torn himself from his sweetheart. And it was not his Queen’s charms nor his kingly duties that brought him all unwilling from his pleasures. It was distrust of Lancaster; it was lack of money. Money he must somehow squeeze out of Parliament. He knew well what Parliament would say.
You squandered wealth untold on Gaveston
. It was all nonsense of course. A King was bound to reward service; and the gifts were but a drop in the huge ocean of his debts, debts he’d inherited along with the crown. But still they’d be on to him insulting him with what they were pleased to call extravagance. Extravagance—and he as poor as a churchmouse! He’d been glad to pawn the crown jewels for a miserable four thousand marks—there’d be trouble over that! Even greater trouble because he’d ordered all customs to be paid not to the Exchequer but to himself direct. Yes, a devil of a row! His one hope to catch Parliament in a good mood; the cursed Ordainers might give him the chance. They’d finished their ridiculous work; now they were pressing to present their efforts to Parliament. He couldn’t take them seriously; but if he showed himself agreeable, granted them a trifle here and there, he would surely squeeze something out of them.

In Westminster Palace the Queen herself went short. Her full dower had never been paid—the best part of it had gone the way of her jewels. Her uncle of Lancaster had promised to look into the matter; meanwhile she must sit and shiver, for even in summer the high stone-walled rooms struck chill.

These days she was restless. She disliked the Ordainers; she was bitter against the King that had made them necessary and now must humble himself. It seemed to her that a vast and dangerous engine had been set up to crack one small nut. Of the true issues involved—the duties of a King and the rights of a people she understands nothing, Margaret thought watching the girl restlessly pacing. She has shrewdness but no wisdom—Between this King and this Queen how shall the country fare?

‘Let the King be what he may,’ Isabella said suddenly, ‘it’s wrong that he must show himself obedient to his subjects!’

‘A King must rule, or be ruled; he must be obeyed or else obey. One or other; there’s no half-way.’ Margaret sighed, remembering that strong man her husband. Yet, she must ask herself, had he shown himself less strong, might not his son show himself less weak? And if great Edward had spent less on his wars, mightn’t his son be in better case now?

The King was home again… and the watchdogs ready and waiting. His courtesy to both Queens was scanted; he dreaded the coming ordeal and his missed Gaveston beyond enduring. If the barons had their way he must go without Piers for the rest of his life. But that was impossible. Without Piers he could not live.

‘He keeps his sweetheart safe in Bamborough,’ Isabella said sharp with disappointment at the King’s greeting. ‘He hopes, no doubt, if Gaveston stay quiet all will be forgotten. But it’s the King that forgets. He forgets the anger of the barons, he forgets the bitterness of Lancaster… and he forgets me.’

‘Madam,’ Queen Margaret said. And then, ‘Child! Beware how you speak. You can do yourself no good and much harm. To the barons the King must give way; but not to others… and not to you. He is still the King. If he desires to punish, punish he will, even though it be the Queen. You’ll get no kindness from him if there’s anger on your tongue.’ She paused; she said, very slow, ‘This could be the time to make a fresh start. Whether he will or no, the King must part with his friend. Gaveston will I think content himself—if his pockets be well-lined; already he has sent for his wife. But the King will not take it easy—love between those two is unequal. He’ll need some comfort.’

‘He’ll not look for it in me! As for Gaveston, how long will he stay away? Until he find a hole in his purse; then back he’ll come smiling to plague us all. As long as the King have gold to stuff into that mouth, that mouth will go on smiling.’

‘He’ll not dare to return. Be satisfied!’

‘How can I be satisfied? I am torn two ways. I pray God for the man’s departure; but I pray it may be by the King’s own will his humiliation is my humiliation. This unnatural love—it sickens me. And you are right—between those two, love’s unequal. It’s the King that loves and Gaveston that endures it—but no longer than he must. He’s already sleeping with his wife…’

‘There at least you should have no quarrel!’

‘But still I have. I’ve no wish to see my husband cuckolded—for that’s what it is! I want him free—even if he cannot turn to me; I want him free of this lying, greedy, vicious fellow!’ She choked upon her anger.

Margaret’s heart was torn with pity. ‘Hatred my child, will get you nowhere.’

When he faced his Parliament at last, it had been sitting for several days; his discourtesy did nothing to sweeten the anger against him.

The Ordainers had set out their grievances and remedies… and it was worse than he had feared. He listened in a growing nightmare while they read the endless charges. All his household censured; all, all! And, first and foremost—Piers.

‘Piers Gaveston—’ and they did not name him by his great title, ‘has led the lord King astray and deceitfully persuaded him to do evil. He has gathered to himself all the King’s treasures and the most part of it he has sent out of the country. He has dominated the King and the Crown to the destruction of the King and Kingdom. Especially, he has turned away the lord King’s heart from his liegemen, despising their counsel. Good ministers he has removed from their office and set up persons of his own familiars both foreign and otherwise that shall, unjustly at his command, break the law of the land. He maintains robbers and murderers and obtains pardon for them from the King, he encourages evil-doers to greater crimes…’

Some of it they exaggerate and most of it is false; and to all I must listen… the King must listen…

‘Piers Gaveston persuades the King to make war without the consent of the barons to the danger of the King and the destruction of the realm. He has made blank charters under the Great Seal to the fraud and impoverishment of King and crown. All these things he does cunningly to the disherison of the crown and the destruction of the people.’

How much more do they find against him? Will there never be an end!

On and on… Telling them how the King himself—had banished the man by common desire of the whole realm; and how the man had returned, not by common consent but pardoned by the King—the King alone.

And now they were coming to an end. The King sat stiff and cold in his place.

‘Therefore on account of these misdeeds and to encourage good harmony between the lord King and his subjects, we the Ordainers, by virtue of royal commission have ordained…’

He fought down the sickness rising in his throat, gathered his every faculty to face the judgment,

‘…that Piers Gaveston as public enemy of the King and Kingdom shall be utterly and for ever cast out and exiled, not from England, alone but from Wales, Scotland, Ireland and from every land beyond the sea that is subject to the lordship of the King of England. Before the feast of All Saints he shall leave and utterly depart the realm of England and every lordship of the King…

I’ll not accept it: never, never!

‘And if the said Gaveston delay beyond the appointed day he shall be treated as an enemy of the King, the Kingdom and the people. And,’ Lancaster turned and spoke directly to the King, ‘whoever shall contradict this ordinance or delay the said exile shall suffer as seems expedient!’

The session was ending; tomorrow they’d indict himself—the King—and much he cared for that! He’d say nothing now; by tomorrow he’d have found some bargaining point for Piers. He betook himself to his closet, he would see no-one. He must think, think, think!

‘So Gaveston’s exile is decreed,’ Isabella said thoughtful. ‘For my part I give thanks to God; but will the King let him go?’

‘He has no choice,’ Margaret said. ‘It is a hard thing to throw a friend to the hounds though the friend be bad and the hounds deserving. He’ll fight… and he will lose.’