Harlot Queen (9 page)

‘Did
you
believe him, uncle?’

He shrugged. ‘Not at first—nor did the best part of us. But one by one he brought us over.’

‘You too, uncle?’

‘I said, Madam,
all
of us!’

‘All
of you?’ she repeated it a little sharp; it was a thing she dared not bring herself to believe.

He did not answer; she waited inexorable.

‘I’ll not split Parliament, I told you!’ he cried out suddenly impatient. ‘No-one spoke out against the King save Canterbury.’

‘Good priest. Would God there were more like him!’

‘Would God there were—he’s the stuff of martyrs. But martyrs are not known for commonsense; and by them a country is not to be saved. Wise men wait their time. All those promises—lapdog and master! We know those promises! Our time will come soon enough!

They were back at Westminster. Restored to full honours, my lord of Cornwall still carried himself seemly. But soon there he was, flaunting himself as before, dressed as extravagantly and hung about with jewels—and some of them the Queen’s own. And the King, more besotted than ever, could see no fault in him. And it went from bad to worse.

‘He will kill himself with his tongue!’ And Queen Margaret sighed.

Isabella nodded. ‘He gives them all the most insulting names—names of animals or infidels. Warwick’s
the black dog
; arid, indeed his lips do lift above his teeth like
a dog
and that makes it worse—the names strike home. Pembroke’s the Jew, and every day he grows darker and his nose more hooked. My uncle of Lancaster’s the
mummer
; it’s because he makes fine speeches that don’t come from the heart.’ ‘There’s scarce a man of the King’s council that doesn’t smart under some piece of vulgarity.’

‘Certainly the man’s tongue will be his death!’ Margaret said again.

‘God grant it; and soon!’

Thomas of Lancaster lifted a bitter face to the Queen; his dark glance dismissed Madam de St. Pierre.

‘It is enough, enough! I am finished with this low fellow. There shall be no more grace for him! He has broken my word for me, he has shamed me in the eyes of honest men. I gave the promise of a place to a man to whom I was beholden—it was in my gift. Now Gaveston, though he knows well my commitment, gives that same place to some fellow of his own. And the King says nothing. If I do not punish Gaveston for this I am shamed in my honour. No man can shame Lancaster and live.’

‘There’s no man alive can shame Lancaster; his honour shines too bright!’ Isabella said. ‘The man’s a fool!’ She set the wine before him. ‘He lets his tongue run away with him!’ She pricked at his wound reminding him of the hateful name Gaveston had given him. ‘He has a wicked… wit!’ She drove the last word home that it might prick more deep. ‘Madam, my aunt, says he will kill himself with his tongue!’

‘Why so he will. Black dog will not be slow to bite nor mummer to play his part.’

The mummer was playing his secret part. To the King he made no complaint; to Gaveston no reproach. But among his peers he went whispering; reminding them of the King’s promises and of Gaveston’s promises—broken, all; reminding them of the lies Gaveston put about setting friend against friend, reminding them of the hateful, spiteful names.

And still Gaveston went on flaunting and Lancaster whispering. In September when leaves were turning and plums bursting with sweetness, the King summoned his Council to an October meeting in York. Some half-dozen, headed by Lancaster, refused…
because of Gaveston
, they said; that matter must be dealt with first.

The King’s surprise was real. The rudeness of Gaveston he had found amusing; amusing, too, the anger of his barons. A man should learn to laugh at himself said the King who had never laughed at himself in his life. The whole matter he thought unimportant; well, let them stay away if they would; things would go easier so!

The scandal was growing. Men spoke, though not openly, of the King and his sweetheart. For the King they had scorn, as yet good-natured; for Gaveston anger at his bare-faced extortions, his wanton extravagance.

Whispering had swelled into open speech. The King could not, if he would, remain deaf; and besides, Gaveston’s reproaches against those that spoke against him were fierce—traitors he called them. The King ordered the arrest of any that should speak scandal of my lord earl of Cornwall.

‘He cannot make England one vast prison,’ Margaret said.

‘Nor would it help,’ Isabella told her. ‘Scandal thrust into the dark is like a plant that grows tall reaching for the light!’

Scandal was driven underground. Deep-rooted in resentment, it grew stronger, spread wider.

For Christmas the court went to Windsor; an unhappy festival for all. Piers and the King went about linked and laughing; but the listening ear could catch the uneasy note. They were aware, both of them, of trouble brewing.

Isabella was wretched and disappointed. How much longer must she wait for the King’s kindness? How much longer for Lancaster’s promised vengeance? Her humiliation went deeper now than in earlier days; the King could no longer pretend she was a child.

The sight of those two forever linked was constant laceration to her pride. Once, catching the King alone, she burst out, ‘Two years! Nigh on two years since we were wed and I am a woman now; a full woman. The country looks to us for an heir but you…’ She heard herself aghast, but anger drove her on, ‘As long as that man is with you you cannot use a woman!’

She had dared overmuch. At the sight of the blazing eyes, the face twisted with anger she backed a few steps and fled.

It was true. He was honest enough to admit it. The country rightly looked for its heir; and as long as Piers was with him he could not use a woman. He would come to the Queen’s bed determined to get her with child; but it was all useless. He had no pleasure in the business and she knew it. She lay beneath him rigid; with her he was impotent.

‘He is guilt—ridden and I am angry and it is all useless! He writes his pious letters to my father trusting I’ll prove fruitful. But how?
How?
I am not the mother of God; immaculate conception is not for me! Tell me, Madam Aunt, do the people blame me? If they do, by God, I’ll take a lover and teach them better!’

‘Madam!’ Margaret cried out in fear. ‘Such talk is treason!’

She watched, troubled for all three. Gaveston she must pity. A man greatly gifted yet for all his gifts, doomed with a doom he had brought upon himself. For Isabella her concern was deeper. Even the King could not deny she was a woman now. She had been patient; more patient than one could have believed of that passionate nature. And she had been clever. She had won not only the barons to her cause; wherever she showed her face the people cheered and blessed her. The King’s folly they knew; the more their pity, the more their admiration for her gallant bearing. But how long could any woman endure so unnatural, so humiliating a life?

And the good Queen’s fears went deeper still.

Isabella’s nature was as yet unplumbed; and the record of her family on the Capet side was not edifying. No worse, perhaps, than that of many a royal line, it yet had a long record of treachery and murder. How far might she not be driven—beautiful, clever, wilful and passionate; humiliated and unsatisfied? She might have been her husband’s lover, his closest friend; her strong will a support to his weakness. But with her there was no half-measure; she bade fair to be his enemy. Quicker than he, more vigorous and more ruthless—an enemy to be feared.

It was for Edward that Margaret feared most. She loved him as her own son and saw great trouble for him; trouble that would not stop at Gaveston, nor even at himself. Trouble that affected the King must trouble the whole realm. She shook her head over the folly of men.

In February the peers received their summons to Parliament. The summons was refused. Gaveston had thrust himself into the last Parliament, he was only too likely to repeat his behaviour. They’d not go through that farce again. But to attend Parliament, the King reminded them, was my lord of Cornwall’s right; and their own duty. When the King commanded, come they must; distasteful as it was, that duty they would do. But so violent their anger, the King commanded them further; they must not come in arms.

Anger was added to anger. Let the King burst; to Parliament they would come as they chose!

Open defiance.

The King and Gaveston affected still a devil-may-care, walking, talking, laughing together; but Isabella could see they were more than ever disturbed. She caught it in the little nervous movements of the King—the head turned sharp upon his shoulder, the quick movement of hand upon his sword-belt. Gaveston showed it in yet greater magnificence, greater arrogance—if that could be; in a sharper edge upon that sharp tongue. And maybe they had some reason to fear! Thomas of Lancaster hadwhispered in her ear; a promise to cherish… if one could count upon it!

She was more than ever dissatisfied. As the King’s wife she was nothing—except the sport of Gaveston’s jests. At home they had called her
the Fair
. She had not deserved it then; but two years had ripened her green beauty—her mirror told her so; that surer mirror, the eyes of men told her so. What then did she lack that brought even a plain woman her lover? Was there some ugly flaw beneath her beauty? She could not think it.

No. The fault was not in herself but in the King. She gave herself to sweet hope. Gaveston out of the way as her uncle had promised, surely the King would turn to his wife? True she loved him no longer. But what matter? He was handsome enough to be acceptable without love. And, when things went smooth, he was good-natured enough; Gaveston gone, she could manage the King. All she wanted was his own good; to lead him with better wits than his own. Within her, power unrecognised, began to stir.

But Gaveston was not yet gone.

Parliament had met and met in arms.

‘The end of Gaveston! Soon, soon I shall begin to live!’ Isabella cried out joyful. Madam Queen Margaret said nothing; she looked with pity at the girl young enough and ignorant enough to believe that anything Parliament might do could take the flaw from the King’s character; the fatal flaw.

Parliament made its complaints clear.

‘Sir, led by evil counsel you have perverted justice. You have impoverished yourself, the crown and your subjects. The country’s wealth runs like water through a sieve.’

You have… you have… you have
… along, long list ending with the loss of Scotland. ‘Sir, you have dismembered the crown, you have lost Scotland.’

The King tried to reply but they gave him no chance. Whenever he tried to speak they shouted him down. Nor was there one there, not even among his own friends, to stand by him. Gaveston had not, this time, dared show his face.

‘Things move; they move!’ Lancaster told his niece. ‘The King was forced to agree to our demands.’

‘Demands?
’ Her voice came out sharp. ‘Other than the removal of Gaveston you have no right to demand anything. You go beyond your office; you blow upon the dignity of the King!’

‘Dignity of the King!’ And he laughed that sour laugh of his. ‘It is for us to preserve it for him since he cannot do it of himself. We are to appoint certain lords—Ordainers we call them. They are to examine the laws. They are to have full power—amend those they find bad or sweep them away altogether; they may make such new laws as seem to them good. They shall have power, also, to put an end to abuses not only in the state but in the King’s own household.’

Interfere with the King’s household!
There was but one abuse to be disposed of—let them dispose of Gaveston! As for the rest—impossible!

‘The King will not agree.’ And she was actually smiling.

‘He has agreed; he has no choice!’

The smile froze on her face.

In the painted chamber at Westminster the Ordainers were chosen.

Twenty-one of them! Isabella considered the list. A good choice, balanced and fair; princes of church and state equally represented.

Isabella considered the prelates. My lord archbishop of Canterbury, Winchelsey that feared no man. He’d sworn to excommunicate Gaveston and would have done it too, save that the Pope had interfered. Langton of Chichester. He favoured the King… up to a point; but he wouldn’t allow himself to be
pushed
. Edward must be careful there…

Her eye went down the rest of the bishops. A round half-dozen; would they defer to Canterbury? They owed him spiritual obedience. But, in matters of state? She did not know.

She turned to the list of barons.

Lincoln, of course and her uncle of Lancaster. Young Gloucester, the King’s nephew and friend… and his sister married to Gaveston; not much doubt where his interests lay. Richmond, Arundel, Hereford and de Warenne; the first three honest enough; de Warenne, though—his honesty was in question. All four the King’s friends; but how far, in the face of his enemies, would friendship stand? They must reckon with Lancaster bitter against the King, with Warwick sick and sour against the King; reckon also with Pembroke that moderate man to keep the balance even, reckon still most of all with old Lincoln failing in strength but not in mind— and their spokesman still.

‘Watchdogs to bite their master!’ the King told Piers.

Of one thing the King was certain. Piers would be the first object of their attack; they’d waste no time dealing with him! By God, he’d not let them touch a hair of that beloved head!

Gaveston had disappeared from court.

‘The very name of
Ordainer
is enough to send him flying; the air is sweeter for his absence!’ Isabella told Madam de St. Pierre. ‘The King has sent him north—where they don’t know him as well as we do! But they’ll soon find out. Well, the further the better; as long as he stays there I am happy!’ She took a dancing twirl about the room.

She had spoken too soon of happiness. The King showed nothing of his usual easy-going temper. Bereft of his sweetheart, humiliated by his lords, dreading when and where his watchdogs would bite, he grew increasingly difficult. Isabella learned what she had not known before—in his sudden rages he could be vicious. Whippings and maimings were everyday affairs—and no reason save that it pleased the King. Humiliated, he sought to humiliate others. My lord bishop of Chichester, Chancellor and a Lord Ordainer, he ordered like a dog to heel. Chichester rebelled; and the King dismissed him from office—from the rank of Ordainer he could not dismiss him. The King’s a fool, Isabella thought; he has turned from him a good friend. Walter Reynolds stepped into the vacant place; a dog obedient to his master’s voice.